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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25127884">Bad Harvest</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dementian/pseuds/Dementian'>Dementian</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Downton Abbey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Attempted Murder, BDSM, F/F, F/M, Ghosts, M/M, Multi, Murder, Organized Crime, Period-Typical Homophobia, Poisoning, Post Movie: Downton Abbey (2019), Stabbing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:55:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>306,729</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25127884</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dementian/pseuds/Dementian</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After the royal visit, life barely returns to normal at Downton Abbey. A series of marriages, births, and deaths would be difficult enough for the occupants even if there weren't vicious criminals on the loose. Familiar faces from the past come back to haunt the current occupants, and once again Downton plays host to an unwelcome guest. Stuck in the middle of all of it, Thomas Barrow must come to terms with what it means to be a flawed human being, and lay to rest all the demons of his youth.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anna Bates/John Bates, Charles Carson/Elsie Hughes, Cora Crawley/Sarah O'Brien, Daisy Mason/Andy Parker, Phyllis Baxter/Joseph Molesley, Thomas Barrow/Chris Webster, Thomas Barrow/Richard Ellis, Thomas Barrow/Richard Ellis/Chris Webster</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>256</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>403</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Andy's Proposal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>After watching the movie, I was inspired to continue where the story left off and try to wrap up as many loose ends as I possibly could. This story is both a "slice of life", a murder mystery, and an essay on humanity.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>               <em>Again, and again, the noise caused Thomas’ heart to jolt with anxiety in time to the pounding at the servant’s area door. </em></p><p>
  <em>               Something foul, something truly heinous was on the other side, determined to get in through the aged oak. This door had withstood the harsh English winter and the demands of enforcement for surely one hundred years; now, its career was to be tested in this one final ultimatum. Whatever lay on the other side was too powerful to be stopped. The door would inevitably fall, and when it did Thomas would have to face what was on the other side. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>               Again, and again… </em>
</p><p>
  <em>               When it broke through, would Thomas be strong enough, brave enough, to conquer this challenge? Would he be able to face down this beast, or would it triumph over him? But no, instinctively Thomas knew that whatever was on the other side was too powerful for him to stop, and too dangerous for him to avoid harm. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>               Something was niggling in the back of his mind, urging him to take notice and pay attention. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>               A voice, muted like it were issuing from a wall away.  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>               With an almighty crash, the door finally gave way, falling to the floor in a wave of stone, plaster, and debris. In the billowing gray smoke that arose, a pair of blazing blue eyes swam into focus. They were animalistic and vicious, gleaming in a murderous rage-! </em>
</p><p>
  
</p>
<hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Thomas gasped awake, his own eyes popping open and his heart still thundering in his ears. He felt terribly uncomfortable, as if he were being strangled by his own blankets. Yet as he reached up to tug the cloth away, he found it was instead the work of the metal chain which kept his pendant safe. Thomas swallowed, staggering up in bed so that his necklace slumped to a more comfortable position. He was sweating profusely, despite the hour being a frigid November morning. As he turned to check his alarm clock, he found it to be 4:56 in the morning, only four minutes from the sounding of his wake-up call.</p><p> Annoyed at his inability to get four minutes of solid sleep, Thomas disabled his alarm and swung his feet over the edge of the bed to prepare getting dressed.</p><p> </p><p>Traditionally, Thomas would have been lodging in Mr. Carson’s old bedroom and have with it all the luxuries it provided (such as a larger fireplace and a window overlooking the grounds). However, despite the finer lodgings, Thomas had refused to take up the room when becoming butler of Downton Abbey. He instead stayed in his old bedroom (for it was the one that gave him the most comfort) and merely moved Carson’s bed over to enjoy its larger mattress. Besides that, it had been business as usual for the past two years.</p><p>Methodically, he shaved and dressed, only pausing in his routine to make sure that his pendant necklace was hidden smoothly beneath his breast plate. It had served as his solitary icon of hope and kindness in the past months and had proved to be an invaluable asset when he nights grew too cold. Sometimes, when he was by himself and able to think without reproach, he would close his eyes and press his lips to the chaste metal of the pendant. In that, he would pretend he were kissing Richard Ellis instead, transported back in time to the moment when they had last spoken. Richard had stated his case well enough and assured him that they would meet again. Yet as every day passed, Thomas grew more and more certain that there would be no other meeting. That Richard would become nothing more than the most powerful of his memories. Like a picture fading in time from prolonged exposure to the elements.</p><p>Only a week had passed since the exit of the royal family from Downton Abbey. Like a swell of hot air rushing away, the house had been left sagging and exhausted. There had been so much to do in those prior days; for a moment, it had felt like the 19<sup>th</sup> century all over again. In lieu of meaningless tasks and chores, the Crawley family seemed somehow more simply and easy. It was almost silly to complain about a family that didn’t require a change in silver sets between lunch and tea. Yet despite the welcome release of pressure, Thomas found himself missing the royals if only for the fact that their presence had allowed Richard to be near. Life seemed almost meaningless, but not in that ugly way which had almost damned him in 1926. This time, it just seemed boring, which was a sensation that Thomas was wholly unaccustomed to feeling when it came to Downton Abbey.</p><p>His office was quiet and dark when he opened the door. He was the first one downstairs, with even the kitchens cold and still. He didn’t know why he’d come down, to be frank. There was nothing to be done save sit in his chair and wait for the others. In a mindless shuffle, Thomas sorted some mail from yesterday and made note in his calendar that nothing important was going on today. With that done, there was nothing else to do. Bored, Thomas slumped in his chair and listened to the softened ticking of his mantel clock.</p><p>It was hard, in these moments, not to think of that night in York.</p><p>That night had been so vivid in its emotional complexities that it had become imperative to Thomas’ mental health not to dwell on it in public. At times, he wanted to laugh. At other times, he was almost on the verge of weeping. That blissful high that he’d felt when Christopher had swept him into the dance hall had felt like a conversation with God. For the first time in his life, he’d been able to stand in aa room full of men like himself and not feel frightened of a simple conversation. It had been so beautiful, so euphoric, that despite the horrendous end he’d not been able to regret going. But having been bailed out had felt almost like betrayal. The other men had been so frightened, so pale and wane in the back corner of the jail cell. They’d stood out like a sore thumb among the common criminals of York. Christopher had stood by his side, nervous but not afraid.</p><p> </p><p><em>“Don’t worry, love, “ </em>He’d whispered in Thomas’ ear. <em>“We’ll get out of this somehow”. </em></p><p> </p><p>But only Thomas had gotten out, leaving Christopher behind for whatever fate awaited men like them. The papers had been less than kind, painting the patrons of Turpins as heathens and sexual deviants who’d been whoring themselves out half naked. In the papers, Christopher’s name had not been mentioned, but Thomas was waiting for it. All it would take was one mention of his name and his life would be ruined. He knew implicitly that Christopher knew that. Would he turn Thomas in for leaving him to suffer alone? Would he feel vindictive and want revenge? Thomas tried to put himself in the other’s shoes, but every time he did a wave of terrible melancholy washed over him. He knew that most residents of Downton Abbey knew he was inverted. But to have it flung out in the open where he could not deny it would be the worst possible scenario for him. He would rather be shot again.</p><p>So, like he always did when he felt the pangs of anxiety creep up on him, Thomas pulled out his pendant. There, in the palm of his hand, it gleamed dully in the lamplight. It seemed to be twinkling up at him, urging him to remember a night where things hadn’t ended so badly after all.</p><p>If he dwelled upon Richard’s memory (as he was often wont to do), the strongest sensation that he could recall was the dimples at the corners of his wide mouth. For some reason that Thomas could not explain, Richard’s vision had taken on the tinges of the Cheshire Cat. Like Alice stumbling through a looking glass, Thomas had found himself spinning topsy turvey at a most delirious and beautiful party. But all of that had been nothing more than a gaseous if fantastical affair compared to the interchanges he’d had with Richard Ellis.</p><p>He’d been so calm, so mature… but there had been an undeniable devious edge to him that made Thomas feel somehow understood. Like the depths of his depravity, which he’d become adjusted to endure alone, finally had a friend to play off. He didn’t know whether that was a good or a bad thing, now that he thought about it.</p><p>“Are you real?” Thomas muttered, “Or were you just a dream?”</p><p> </p><p>“I should imagine I’m quite real, thank you very much.”</p><p>Thomas swore aloud, jerking violently in his seat as he realized that Elsie Hughes was about four feet in front of him. How long had she been there, gawping at him like a nosey little nutter! For her part she had no shame, and even had the audacity to smirk at him like she’d one upped him in her snooping.</p><p>“Mrs. Hughes, can I help you?” He demanded, heavily irritated to have been caught daydreaming at the age of thirty-seven.</p><p>“I was about to ask the same of you,” She said, gesturing to his pendant. “What’s that?”</p><p>Eager to keep his little slice of heaven private, Thomas quickly tucked it back beneath the bib of his livery to let it fall out of sight. “Nothing, just a pendant for my albert chain.”</p><p>Mrs. Hughes cocked her head, slightly inquisitive, but said no more about it. “So-“ Thomas rose up with a scrape of wood on stone. “Am I back to being necessary? Or shall I pack my bags?” He clasped his hands behind his back, snide in his derision. “I suppose I could make a living running a coconut shy and following the fair.”</p><p>“I knew you’d lump it,” Mrs. Hughes rolled her eyes. She shrugged out of her coat, hanging it over the crook of her arm. “Don’t fuss at Mr. Carson. He had enough of a time as it was trying to handle the King’s staff.”</p><p>“Ah yes,” Thomas sneered, eyes gleaming. “To succeed where I had failed. How good to know that we can rely on him in times of trial.”</p><p>Mrs. Hughes was not impressed. “Mr. Carson has many skills when it comes to dealing with difficult people.”</p><p>No prizes for who she was referring to. “Yes, he can be a doormat, a coat rack, a football-“</p><p>“A patient and wise leader,” she cut across.</p><p>Patient and wise, indeed. What a laugh. Thomas walked away, heading out into the hallway with Mrs. Hughes on his heels. Clearly, she wasn’t finished haranguing him.</p><p>“Did you have a nice time in York?” She asked. For some reason, it came off as rather accusative.</p><p>“Fine,” He refused to play into her hands anymore. The more he acted like it was a normal visit, the better off he would be. Even though the papers had been full of horror stories, there was no direct evidence placing him at Turpins. Best just to act like he’d never heard of it.</p><p>“Well, if you don’t want to talk to me- “She scoffed, as if he’d hurt her feelings by not spilling his soul onto the mat.</p><p>“It was fine,” He complained, entering the servant’s hall and sitting at the head of the table. “I don’t know what else to say.”</p><p>“Did you get along well with Mr. Ellis?” she asked.</p><p>“As much as to be expected,” Thomas shrugged. He refused to look her in the face when he answered. Though they’d never been terribly close, she still knew him well enough to sense when something was askew.</p><p>“Well, I’ve read in the papers that something rather … bad… happened the night you visited York. Maybe you heard about it while you were there?” she asked.</p><p>Thomas did not answer straight away, instead fiddling with the cufflinks at his sleeves.</p><p> Finally, when he felt that he could control the tone of his voice, Thomas replied. “I have to get to work, Mrs. Hughes, and so do you.”</p><p>By not answering, he’d inadvertently given her the confirmation she needed. She was unhappy, he could tell, but perhaps not for his own behavior. Either way, he would not press her. “As you say,” she walked off towards the kitchen, finally letting him be.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The day went according to plan for the most part. The nursery needed to be cleaned for the upcoming influenza season, so the children had to play downstairs en masse. George and Sybbie were old enough to enjoy themselves, but Johnny and Caroline needed company and guidance. As such, Thomas allowed the pair of them to follow after him while he instructed Andy on the cleaning of a silver chandelier, and after he needed a break he deposited them onto Mrs. Patmore who let them devour a portion of raw biscuit batter. After luncheon was served to the meagre party of Lord Grantham and Tom Branson, the servants were offered their own afternoon tea and a chance to finally relax. The children went back upstairs, save for Johnny who sat by the hearth and rolled a wooden motorcar across the filthy stone flag floor.</p><p>Allotted a break, Thomas sat daydreaming about the crook in Richard’s grin, and how he’d been so sure of himself when he’d pressed the finger to Thomas’ lips. Unable to help himself, Thomas had fetched a copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland from the children’s pathetically small library and was currently perusing a scene with the Cheshire Cat himself. The more he spoke, the more he sounded like Richard.</p><p>In the background, Thomas vacantly heard a few snippets of conversation from his staff.</p><p>“Daisy wants to have lots of flowers, but I’m not overly fussed,” Andy admitted. “It all seems so…” He gestured at the air, grasping for the word that would not come, “Complicated,” he finished lamely. “Can’t we just say our vows and be done with it?”</p><p>“Give her some breathing space,” Anna was tickled by Andy’s lack of understanding. “It’s her wedding after all.</p><p>“I thought it was my wedding too!”</p><p>“It’s the bride’s wedding first,” Anna said. Andy looked at Thomas, quizzically.</p><p>“Are you hearing this, Mr. Barrow?”</p><p>But Thomas wasn’t hearing it, not really. Instead he was far too busy amusing himself reading.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I don’t like the looks of it at all,” said the King: “However, it may kiss my hand, if it likes.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I’d rather not,” the Cat remarked. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>All Thomas could think of was Richard sparring with the King of England, refusing to kiss his hand like a good little servant.  </p><p>“Mr. Barrow?”</p><p>Thomas gave a start, looking about to find Andy waiting for his answer. Even Anna was mildly perplexed, which was funny given that she never cared about him.</p><p>“Yes,” Thomas sat up straighter in his chair, tugging carefully at the lapel of his livery so that it lay flat.</p><p>“Are you alright?” Andy asked. “You’ve seemed a little distant lately.”</p><p>“Fine, I’m fine.” Thomas didn’t even bother looking at Andy when he said it. To avoid any more uncomfortable questions, he decided to head down to the wine cellar. In the cool and quiet, he would have more than enough space to gather his thoughts.</p><p>Leaving the servant’s hall, Thomas unlocked the wine cellar and descended into the dark. He took with him the book, flipping once or twice through the pages to see what else the Cheshire Cat had to say. So far, it had done a rather spot on impression of Richard.</p><p>He paused against an ancient rack of red wines, flipping near the back of the book to continue reading.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“And how do you know that you’re mad?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“To begin with,” said the Cat, “A dog’s not mad. You grant that?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I suppose so,” Said Alice. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Well then,” the Cat went on, “You see a dog growls when it’s angry and wags its tail when it’s pleased. Now, I growl when I’m pleased and wag my tail when I’m angry. Therefore, I’m mad.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I call it purring, not growling,” Said Alice. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Thomas smiled, thinking of how Richard had been so chaotically delighted to fuss with Mr. Wilson. He’d done a spot on impression of that London chap (Thomas couldn’t remember his name), howling and snarling into the Downton Post Office telephone. But his smile soon turned melancholy as he thought of all the ‘dogs’ in his life that he knew, and how they sat wagging their tails at marriage upstairs. His constant confirmation as an outcast had become something of an omnipresent cloud that he could not escape.</p><p>Setting his book aside on the top of the wine rack, Thomas tried to distract himself from his somber situation by fetching a wine for dinner. It would have to be decanted soon if he were to remain upon schedule.</p><p>Yet like Alice, overseen by a hidden cat in a tree, another pair of eyes were watching Thomas from the stairwell to the servant’s quarters.</p><p>“You’re not fine,” she said.</p><p>It was a little amusing, given their relationship. Perhaps she knew him best of all other creatures on earth. But she was smiling and seemed to understand that whatever was bothering him was not necessarily a bad thing. Thomas looked over his shoulder at Baxter, who was watching him with knowing and kind eyes.</p><p>“Am I so easy to read?” Thomas asked, rolling the wine bottle left and right to brush off soot and dust.</p><p>“A bit, “She teased. In a gesture of good faith, she handed him over his pack of cigarettes, which he suddenly realized he’d left on the table. “You left your smokes behind, and you never do that.”</p><p>He took them, then pulled one free to light it with a spare hand. He even offered her one, but she shook her head. “So?” she asked. “How did you like your night in York?”</p><p>It was one thing to dodge the question with Mrs. Hughes. Baxter, on the other hand, had known him since he was small and understood his behaviors like he were her brother instead of a co-worker. He wasn’t afraid to tell her things, simply because he knew that he could trust her. It was a sensation that he was wholly unfamiliar with.</p><p>“Difficult to say,” he admitted. He sat the wine bottle down on a table which held little more than a candlestick and a box of matches. “Equal parts heaven and hell. Have you ever had a night that simply didn’t feel real?”</p><p>“I did,” She said. “the night I was arrested.”</p><p>Yeah, funnily enough, that about covered it. “I know the feeling.”</p><p>“You’ve never been arrested,” She teased. “You’re much too smart for that.”</p><p>Little did she know he had been arrested in York. He shuddered at the horrendous memory.</p><p>“I know,” Baxter agreed, “I shouldn’t joke about something that horrible. Was Mr. Ellis nice? He seemed to be rather fond of you.”</p><p>Thomas turned away, fiddling with the wine bottle again. The cork was starting to deteriorate from age. He made a noncommittal noise but couldn’t help the smile that was beginning to crawl over his face.</p><p>“So?” she teased. She tilted her head, trying to see his expression over his shoulder.</p><p>“So what?” He turned on her, still smiling but now trying for a bit of defiance to throw her off the scent. It wasn’t working.</p><p>“Alright,” She toyed. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” But it was clear that she’d already made up her mind.</p><p>“There’s nothing to tell!” He lied.</p><p>She shrugged. But just when Thomas thought she’d give up, she turned back around with a devious little smile on her face. “Oh, by the way, I noticed that Mr. Ellis was the last to leave the house, when the royal family went home.” She paused, coy. “Andy says he was talking to you in your office. What about?”</p><p>“Train times,” Thomas said, for it was the quickest excuse he could come up with on the spot. Baxter just gave him a queer little look.</p><p>“Mm,” she tilted her head to the side, “Why did he need to talk to you about that?”</p><p>“Ms. Baxter,” Thomas was starting to grow just a tad bit annoyed with her hen-pecking. “I am rather busy at the moment decanting wine. If this can wait, I would be most appreciative. I cannot imagine you don’t have other pressing things to do?”</p><p>She just smiled and walked away, looking none too smug with herself. Had she been anyone else in the house, Thomas would have been irate.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>That night, Thomas had to be quick to slip the children’s book back upstairs into the nursery before ringing the gong for dinner. Unlike the old days, there were hardly grand parties to attend to. Still, the Crawley’s liked to keep to their schedule and he was happy to do the menial chores if it kept the money rolling in. Dinner that night was a beef wellington with several vegetable side dishes, and as soon as the family were sorted Mrs. Patmore then spooned the leftovers onto their own dishes so that no food would go to waste. Funnily enough, the servants were more keen to eat the broccoli with cheese than they were to eat the rare beef slice. When dinner was finished, Thomas returned to his office just to get away from the crowd and have a moment or two in the quiet. Often, he found himself retreating earlier and earlier if only to have an excuse to look at Richards’ pendant once again.</p><p>In the light of his brass lamp, Thomas turned the pendant back to front, noting it had several light scratches on the other side. He had to wonder where they had come from, and if they were signs of a life of hardship or moments of leisure. Had Richard perhaps let this pendant fall to the floor when he lay with another man? Or had it been pressed against sharp corners of furniture as he squeezed through tight passages to aid the King? More and more, the image of Richard as a Cheshire cat kept coming to mind. He would slide like smoke through the cracks of Buckingham palace, vanishing from sight just as an offense came to mind. Nothing could touch him, in a home where everything was off limits.</p><p>A knock at the door startled him out of his reverie. He quickly hid his pendant beneath his shirt and sat up straight in his chair again, beckoning to the other side: “Enter”.</p><p>Andy opened the door, looking slightly nervous. </p><p>“Yes?” Thomas said.</p><p>“I’m done and dusted with the silver,” Andy told him.</p><p>“Good,” The lad was getting faster, that was around thirty minutes of hard work whereas before it would have taken forty five. “You’re free to do whatever you please for the rest of the night.”</p><p>“…Actually-“ And at this Andy shut his door so that they could be offered a bit of privacy. “I wanted to talk with you if you have a moment to spare?”</p><p>He shrugged, setting his ledger aside. For Andy, he could spare one or two moments.</p><p>Andy coughed, as if trying to sum up his nerve. Thomas wondered what ridiculous idea he had up his sleeve this time.</p><p>“You know I’m getting married?”</p><p>“I’m aware,” Thomas’ tone was a dry as his humor on the subject.</p><p>“Well-“ Andy took another step forward, licking his lips. “Daisy keeps demanding that I put my own personal touch on the wedding, but I can’t be bothered about the decorations. So she says I need to… have… something else.”</p><p>Thomas had absolutely no idea where this conversation was going.</p><p>“It’s not something I’d ever thought about before, but… well… we’re friends aren’t we?” He gestured between the pair of them. “You an’ I. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have even met Daisy.”</p><p>That wasn’t  necessarily true. “Not really-“ Thomas mused. “His Lordship went up to London and you were called for an extra hand. I had nothing to do with that.”</p><p>“But you got me my position here!” Andy said.</p><p>“Once again, you give me far too much credit,” For though Thomas had put the idea in Carson’s head, he could not be held responsible for the rest. “Carson doesn’t listen to me about those sorts of things. It was probably Mrs. Hughes that backed your corner-“</p><p>“Well you mean a lot to me!”</p><p>For some reason that Thomas could not understand, Andy was angry at him. It was such a bizarre reaction that it rendered Thomas mute so that Andy could finally continue. There were pink splotches high up on his cheeks.</p><p>“So… I…” Andy shuffled a bit, now back to his nerves. “I want you t’be my best man, Thomas.”</p><p>For a moment, Thomas did not understand what Andy had meant, and almost asked him to repeat himself or explain. But then, with sickening dread, Thomas realized what Andy was wanting from him. It was far much more than he could give.</p><p>“… While I appreciate the offer,” Thomas kept his tone gentle, “I’m going to have to decline.”</p><p>It seemed as if Andy had not banked on this being an acceptable answer. It blew him away, and for a moment he was flabbergasted till he finally managed to choke out. “What? Why?!” He was upset, now, well and truly. Thomas almost felt bad for him.</p><p>Almost.</p><p>“We cannot forget who I am, Andy,” Thomas kept that same gentle tone lest Andy start shouting at him. “Both in this house and this community. I am your butler, I have to behave in a certain manor or I will be seen as falling out of line. And as for the rest, I am not welcome as a wedding figure in this community.”</p><p>“What?” Andy couldn’t understand, “I don’t even know what that means! If you don’t want to be my best man because you think I’m stupid or something then just-“</p><p>“Andy-“ He waved him down, eager to keep him from jumping to conclusions. “Think about where you’re having your wedding. In a church, right?”</p><p>“Well, yeah—”</p><p>“The local church?”</p><p>“W- yes!”</p><p>“Now have you considered what Father Travis would think of <em>me </em>being your best man?”</p><p>But Andy was too young, and too stubborn to look the facts in the face. “Why do I care what he’d say about you?”</p><p>“Because he is the one with the power in this community to marry you to Daisy,” Thomas said. Andy fell silent, his eyes sparkling with emotion. This conversation was becoming far too much of a hazard for Thomas to condone. “Andy, I cannot do it. It’s too risky. I’ll sit in the audience near the front for you, but that’s as much as I can do in public and you know it. I appreciate your offer, but for your sake, I am declining.”</p><p>Unable to hold his temper, or his tongue, Andy instead turned on his heel and marched out of the room with a hurt look upon his youthful face.</p><p>As the door closed, Thomas winced at the sound of slamming wood. He let out a slow sad sigh, and for the sake of self-pity rubbed at his brow methodically. He had a feeling this conversation was going to come back to bite him on the ass. He could only hope that the others in the house would understand.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>But of course, this was far too much credit to give, to a group of people who had barely managed to get through an elementary education. If there was one thing that the staff of Downton liked to do, it was get upset at Thomas’ miniscule impunities. It didn’t matter if Thomas was acting in Andy and Daisy’s best interest; he was supposed to say ‘yes’ when asked to be best man, and since he had said ‘no’, he was going outside of tradition. Such horrors should not be allowed in a Christian environment. What was more, Thomas was surprised to find that he had gotten used to the tiny allowances of kindness that he’d been garnered for turning over a new leaf. Normally Mrs. Patmore would make him a cup of coffee, but the next morning she did not and claimed forgetfulness even as she made Mrs. Hughes hers. Then, over breakfast, Thomas made a small joke regarding the schedule and no one laughed or even cracked a smile. During tea, the radio stayed silent despite the fact that people liked to play it every chance they got, so everyone just in silence glaring dully at Thomas until tea break was over. By the time it was dinner, Thomas was ready to lose it over the first cough or grumble he heard. He’d like to think that this change in demeanor (no matter how small) was due to some other transgression he’d made. However, he was much too cynical after so many years working in the house to imagine otherwise.</p><p>Dinner was quiet and uncomfortable. Everyone ate in silence, while down at the far end of the table Andy had bloodshot eyes and an expression like a kicked puppy. Every so often, Bates would lean in to hear something Anna whispered in his ear and then turn to look sourly at Thomas. When Thomas finally caught the man’s eye, he quickly looked away but the damage was done.</p><p>Everyone was mad at him, he couldn’t avoid it any longer.</p><p>It was at the terse shuffling of a paper (how could anyone put so much irritation into a small act) that Thomas finally snapped. Losing all patience, he sat down his teacup with a short sharp smack and looked to Baxter who was still staring at him petulantly.</p><p>“Is there something going on of which I am unaware?” Thomas asked. The only person who would look at him now, was Baxter. She seemed to silently be saying ‘sorry’ but Thomas wasn’t interested in apologies. He wanted explanations for why his day had become so aggravating for such a small reason.</p><p>Ms. Baxter was none too pleased that this difficult task had fallen to her. She even went so far as to take a sip of her tea before answering in a soft voice.  </p><p>“Andy is upset that you refused his offer to be his best man.”                               </p><p>Unable to hold in his annoyance, a string of utterances slipped past Thomas’ lips. He looked from Mrs. Hughes, who was glaring, to Mr. Bates, who just looked plain exhausted. It was 1920 all over again, and he was none too pleased.</p><p>“And is that the business of anyone else at this table?” Thomas demanded to his staff at large. When no one answered him (save to look embarrassed), he asked again in a slightly louder tone. “I said, is that the business of anyone else at this table!”</p><p>A soft chorus of irritated ‘no’s met his ears, though most of them were followed by tiny mutters Thomas could not discern.</p><p>“Then kindly remove yourselves from this conversation,” Thomas said. “I am the butler of this house, and I will not be a source of gossip. Andy is aware of why I said no. He is the groom, and he is the one whose opinion matters.”</p><p>“I thought you were turning over a new leaf,” Bates spoke up from his end of the table. </p><p>Now <em>that </em>pissed Thomas off.</p><p>“Mr. Bates, will you speak with me in my office,” Thomas rose up from his chair, shoving it back underneath the table. Bates was tense, glaring at him now.</p><p>For a second, he seemed to contemplate simply telling Thomas ‘no’ and seeing what happened, but Mrs. Hughes was giving him an expectant look and while he could get away with giving Thomas sass, he could not go against her at the same time. Heavily annoyed, Bates left the table and followed Thomas to his office where he promptly shut the door so they would not be overheard.</p><p>“I am trying my hardest to keep this as emotion free as possible, and you bringing up the past does not help!” Thomas snapped.</p><p>“Why did you turn him down?” Bates didn’t even acknowledge the other. “You hurt his feelings so badly last night that he cried in the kitchen to Daisy. Cried! Like a woman!” As if the worst name a man could be called was a ‘woman’.</p><p>This rather embarrassed Thomas. He didn’t like to make anyone cry, and certainly not a friend. He didn’t know how to respond when they did. “I- I was not trying to make him cry.”</p><p>“He told me that you said you wouldn’t do it because of Father Travis,” Bates clearly did not believe him. “But he thinks it’s because you think he’s stupid or don’t like him enough. A priest is not exactly a solid reason to reject such a nice offer from a good friend.”</p><p>“Mr. Bates-“</p><p>“I know I don’t understand your situation-“</p><p>“You are correct!” Thomas cried out, his eyes blazing with an inner fury. “You do not!”</p><p>This brought Bates to a pause, though it was tentative. Eager to get control over the conversation, once again, Thomas continued. This time, however, he spoke in a whisper eager not to be overheard by anyone out in the hall.</p><p>“That man knows what I am,” Thomas murmured. “Now what do you think he’d say if he saw me at the alter with Andy? He could very easily hold up the ceremony, he could even refuse to do it!”</p><p>“He wouldn’t do that,” Bates said.</p><p>“You don’t know what he’d do, and neither do I!” Thomas reminded him. Bates weighed this mentally for a moment before coming up short. “I have to assume the worst for Andy and Daisy’s sake. So please stop egging Andy on. His sentimentalities are going to end up ruining his wedding!”</p><p>“Well-“ Bates tried to say something, but came up short again so he just shook his head. Both of them were frustrated at the situation now. “I don’t like it.”</p><p>“I don’t like it either,” Thomas quickly agreed. “But there’s nothing to be done. And for your information, I am trying… very hard… to be likable.” He did not know how else to put it. Bates was confused by the term, eyes narrowing at the suggestion that being likable was the most important article of a mans’ character.</p><p>“Likable?” He relayed.</p><p>“You know what I mean,” Thomas said. Bates just stared.</p><p>“Is that all that matters?” Bates asked.</p><p>“I wouldn’t expect a man who is liked to understand,” Thomas said. Annoyed with Thomas’ rather superficial view of relationships, Bates raised his hands in mock surrender and changed the subject.</p><p>“Am I free to go or do you want to hash it out all over again?” he asked.</p><p>“You are free to go if you promise to speak to Andy and dissuade him, “Thomas said.</p><p>For a moment, Bates did not reply. He gathered himself, and finally said: “I’ll lend him a shoulder. I suggest you do the same if you’re really serious about turning over a new leaf.”</p><p>He left, quietly closing the door behind him.</p><p>He was still a little hungry, but didn’t want to go back out into the hall and eat with the others when they were mad at him. It evaporated his appetite and made him feel weak. Why couldn’t they understand? How was it possible that they both denied him his humanity and mocked him for it in the same breath? He’d very well like to Andy’s best man if only he could get away with it, but he didn’t know how Travis was going to react and if the man went sour Andy and Daisy would be the ones to pay for it. It wasn’t fair of them to keep asking him to turn over a new leaf, and then remind him of why the leaf was on the wrong side in the first place. How was he supposed to change his spots if no one would let him?</p><p>Apathetic and glum, Thomas sank down into his chair and buried his head in his hands. The aged sigh that slipped past his lips would have been better suited for a man of 90, not 37.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Departure of the Bates</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>An unexpected curve ball is thrown Thomas' way when Anna and Bates decide it's time for them to move on. In lieu of their congratulations and well wishes, he decides to look for comfort from the one place he knows he'll find it.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>No warnings in this chapter, though there will be references to suicidal attempts made in the past and current suicidal thoughts.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After speaking with Bates, the mood surrounding Thomas returned to normal. It was difficult to maintain order in the house without stepping on too many toes, but the subject of Thomas’ involvement with the wedding had strayed too close to the personal for his liking. He did not like having to deny a friend a request, particularly an emotional one, but he had to protect Andy from himself. There was no shame in that. If there was pity in the other’s eyes, he avoided acknowledging it. If there was a stiffness in their gate when they walked past, he refused to care.</p><p>He’d once asked Richard if they would ever see in their way. Richard had avoided the answer, and Thomas knew why.</p><p>The dream had returned for the next few nights, always with Thomas on the other side of the servant’s door to the area yard. Always the same blue burning eyes and the certainty that something was coming he could not stop nor defeat.</p><p>It started to haunt him in his waking moments too. There were times when he would simply stand in the hallway to the area yard and stare at the door, memorizing the tiniest details that would otherwise go unnoticed. It made his dream all the more lifelike, all the more terrifying.</p><p>Now, standing in the cellar picking out a wine to decant for dinner with the Dowager, Thomas could not help but feel an ugly icy chill go up his spine. What if something was actually coming and his inner psych was trying to warn—</p><p><em>Oh, listen to yourself, </em>he thought irritably. <em>They make door locks for a reason, Thomas. </em></p><p>“Banging on the door and blue eyes… why blue eyes?” Thomas wondered. Maybe the devil was in the details. Maybe he knew someone with blue eyes and they’d rubbed him the wrong way, recently. Those ugly piercing blue eyes that seemed to skin him alive and hang him up for dead. Who had eyes that beautiful and yet that evil? An ugly chill came over him as he pondered the possibility of ghosts and demons from his past. Was the dream a promotion of a time to come or was it just some-</p><p>A hand grabbed him by the shoulder.</p><p>In an instant, Thomas went from dallying in a daydream to thinking his life was about to be ripped from him. He panicked and dropped the bottle of port he was holding so that it exploded at his feet! Glass and wine went everywhere, coating Thomas’ shoes in shards and seeping his white socks in a heavy oppressive wave of red. He shouted, unable to stop himself, his hands up in front of his face to shield from the attacker!</p><p>But as he turned, terrified, he only found Anna and Bates, both of whom were downright disturbed.</p><p>Thomas could not catch his breath, and it started him on a wheezing fit after years of smoking. When he finally managed to control himself, he felt like he’d been put through the ringer and wanted to lay down in a cold dark room.</p><p>“… I did not mean to startle you,” Bates said, and he spoke with such an earnest tone that Thomas could not help but believe him. That didn’t keep his heart from pounding in his chest, though.</p><p>He swallowed, trying to come up with an adequate reason for why he’d been so scared. It was difficult to say, now that he knew it was only Bates. He’d just been so certain in the moment that it hadn’t been Bates, that it had been the monster instead. God, he felt like a fool! And his shoes-! Oh… his shoes.</p><p>“My shoes are full of glass… and fifty-year-old port,” Thomas muttered, licking his dry lips.</p><p>Anna took charge. She grabbed his arm and made her body into a sordid cane so that he could lean on her and avoid putting pressure on the tips of his toes. “Here, step out of it.”</p><p>He did so, and once he was safely away from the ‘crash site’, he sat down upon a packed crate of new wine and began to unlace his shoes. They were growing sticky as the alcohol evaporated into the air, leaving behind nothing but an oppressive stench of alcohol and a heavy red pigment. As he pulled off his shoe, Thomas’ feet looked like he’d been mauled by a vicious tiger. They were soaked in red, as if he was bleeding. He poured the rest of the port from his shoes, watching it flow in a filthy river to the corner of the cellar, where an old drain swept the evidence of his folly away.</p><p>“Great,” Thomas muttered to himself.</p><p>“Do you have another pair?” Bates asked.</p><p>“As if I could afford it,” And this was quite true, for shoes were expensive for a servant. Thomas didn’t have much in the way of clothing and accessories, and what he did have had been given to him out of charity or bought at a secondhand shop. These shoes technically did not belong to him, they belonged to the house, and repairing them would be no small task. Mrs. Hughes was going to skin him alive.</p><p>“Oh,” Thomas put his head in his hands. “Mrs. Hughes is going to eat me up for this.”</p><p>“I’ll tell her what happened,” Anna offered. “It’s our fault.”</p><p>Imagine that. The Bates taking responsibility for one of his misfortunes.</p><p>Thomas left the cellar, now barefoot, and headed back to his office before any of the other staff could see his naked state. He’d never been downstairs in anything but full dress and entering his office without shoes felt like he was running around naked. Thankfully, there was a good fire going, and so he could put his shoes in front of the hearth to dry off. His socks were ruined, but perhaps with good luck he could still salvage them as a gentle pink instead of a shocking bloody red. Anna and Bates followed behind him, but before Anna closed the door, she poked her head out to call for another:</p><p>“Will you fetch Mrs. Hughes for me?” she asked someone Thomas could not see. After that, she closed the door to give them some privacy. What on earth could they want now? To harass him about the wedding again? Or perhaps this was them ganging up on him for talking to Bates like an errant schoolboy last night.</p><p>Thomas hid his feet beneath the desk and wiped his hands dry on a handkerchief. It took was starting to turn red.</p><p>“Now that I’ve put that to rights,” Though to be fair, he hadn’t done much, “Can I help you with something?”</p><p>“Anna and I have to speak to you,” Bates said. He sounded profoundly serious, which made Thomas nervous.</p><p>“If this is about that damned wedding again, I won’t hear it!” He shot down.</p><p>“Its not,” Anna said. “Not that we agree with your decision.”</p><p>“Then what?” Thomas asked, glancing from one to the other. “Have you come to gang up on me for taking you into my office last night?”</p><p>Bates sighed, clearly exhausted. Knowing he was close to the window, Thomas stopped talking and gestured for Bates to speak. This was a silent battle between the pair of them, with him mutely apologizing and Bates nodding in civil understanding.</p><p>“Anna and I have decided that we want to open our own inn,” Bate said. “At the waterfront café down on Narrowway.”</p><p>Narrowway wasn’t too far off, and its waterfront feature filtered from the same miller’s pond that was near the Carson’s cottage. It even featured a water wheel, though it hadn’t worked in years and was now serving as a roost for stray pigeons.</p><p>“Alright, is that it?” Thomas asked. This was just another brick in the wall of the Bates’ dreams of domesticity. Nothing he couldn’t handle.</p><p>“No,” Bates said. “No it’s not.”</p><p>And the way he said it was so strange. Like he was sad for whatever reason. Thomas’ brow furrowed. He raised an eyebrow, silently beckoning Bates to continue.</p><p>“Thomas, we’re quitting our jobs.” Bates said.</p><p>Half a minute of silence passed, as Thomas registered those words.</p><p>So often in years gone by, he’d wished Bates were gone. Anna was different, she was incorruptible, but… in a way now that the moment had come Thomas felt horrible. He suddenly realized that for nearly twenty years, he and Bates had done this queer little dance around each other. Now, without a partner, Thomas was lonely and felt like he’d lost a friend instead of a work enemy. He didn’t know what to do. Quit their jobs? Was it as serious as all that?</p><p>But then, why not quit their jobs? Johnny was getting older by the day, and this was no life to inherit. If they owned their own inn, they could create more money, and have property to give to Johnny when he was older. Wasn’t that something worth fighting for?</p><p>But all of this, the domesticity, the sudden change, the property, and the idea of inheritance, suddenly made Thomas realize that Bates and Anna were living his dream and he was watching them sail off into the sunset without him. They were leaving, they were setting up their own place, they had children, and they were happy.</p><p>They now had everything he could possibly want, and it ate at his insides until he could no longer stand to sit quietly by.</p><p>“… Have you told his Lordship about this?” Thomas asked.</p><p>“I just did,” Bates said.</p><p>“What did he say?”</p><p>“He was upset,” Bates sighed, “But he understands. This is our dream.”</p><p>And how could Thomas deny them that? Anna was now looking increasingly worried, as if she’d suddenly realized all they were putting before him and what it meant. She was worrying at her bottom lip, turning it flush with blood.</p><p>“We could stay here our whole lives, but we want fulfillment,” Bates said. Thomas nodded, listening raptly. “This is something we’ve always wanted to do, and if we don’t do it now it’ll be harder when Johnny gets older. I know this is difficult and-“</p><p>Thomas raised his hand for silence, and Bates gave it to him. He looked from Bates, who was worried, to Anna who was sad.</p><p>He smiled, though it was a pained creature.</p><p>“You have my blessing,” He said, and he meant it whole heartedly. “Leave the rest to me.”</p><p>“You don’t mind, really?” Anna murmured; her voice rather weak in that moment.</p><p>“No,” Thomas said, and it was truth. Anna sensed the honesty in his words, and her frown vanished into a small sweet smile.</p><p>“thank you, Thomas,” She said, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “This means the world to me. To us. We’ve been together for a very long time, and we will come back often, we swear-“ But Thomas waved his hand to shush her. She didn’t have to promise the house anything. She’d given it more than enough. “Are you upset?”</p><p>In truth, he was, but that wasn’t something he was about to put on the Bates. “I’m glad for you,” He said. Once again, he meant it. “That you can chase your dreams. We don’t all get the option.”</p><p>Anna took those words in and tried to offer him the tiniest bit of hope she could. “You could chase your dreams too, Thomas.”</p><p>But that was the thing. After twenty years in this damn house, Thomas didn’t dream anymore. Maybe once during the war he’d thought about going into business proper like his father had but… well… he was too old, too tired, too poor. His dreams were done.</p><p>“I don’t have dreams, Anna,” He explained. Then, he remembered those awful piercing blue eyes. “Only nightmares.”</p><p>Anna was shocked, raising her eyebrows. Bates opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, the door opened to reveal Mrs. Hughes.</p><p>“You wanted to see me, Anna?” Mrs. Hughes said.</p><p>“Yes, I’ve rather made a mess of things-“ Anna was torn between wanting to continue her conversation with Thomas and putting things to rights, but it seemed that she felt whatever they’d been discussing was much too private to speak about in front of Mrs. Hughes. “I scared Thomas and he dropped a bottle of port, it ruined his socks and shoes.”</p><p>“Scared him?” Mrs. Hughes almost laughed at this, as if the idea of Thomas being frightened was funny. “Look at you, head in the clouds,” she teased him. Then she spotted his shoes.</p><p>“Oh Thomas!” She berated, gathering them up from the hearth. “You’ve ruined these! I don’t know if we have another pair in your size! You better hope we do, or you’ll be indecent in front of his Lordship.”</p><p>“I have a pair he can borrow,” Bates offered.</p><p>“He doesn’t wear the same size you do,” Mrs. Hughes explained. “Thomas has small feet. He’s a forty.”</p><p>“Forty?” Bates blurted the word out like it were a curse. He looked to Thomas, who nodded. “Christ your feet are the size of a woman’s.”</p><p>Thomas just rolled his eyes, wishing he could whop Bates around the ears for that.</p><p>“I’ll put this to rights, “Mrs. Hughes said, taking his socks just for good measure. “And I’ll try to have these washed, but I won’t pretend they’ll be sparkling white by the end of it.”</p><p>“Socks I can handle,” Thomas said, for they were cheap compared to shoes. “The shoes…”</p><p>“Let me go look,” Mrs. Hughes said.</p><p>“I’ll go with you,” Anna said. She had an oddly determined look on her face. “There’s something I want to speak to you about.”</p><p>Clearly, she wanted to inform her too now.</p><p>“I’ll go,” Bates said, nodding to Thomas.</p><p>“Bates-“ He paused at the door, looking back at Thomas. “Get a bottle of port from the cellar for me,” Thomas said. “And tell Albert to get the glass of the stone.”</p><p>“Fine,” Bates left without another word, so that Thomas was given peace and solitude in his study.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>Anna dutifully followed Mrs. Hughes to the livery room, and helped her to sort through what remained of their stock of men’s shoes. It was difficult at her age to bend over, so Anna was welcome help as she squatted on her knees and reached through the back of the cupboards. The shoes were wrapped in waxed papers to keep them free of dust and grime. She had to take them out individually and look at the sole of the shoe to see if they were a size forty. Most were larger.</p><p>Despite the fact that Thomas had turned over a new leaf (so to speak), it still wasn’t pleasant to enjoy his company. He was like a dulled razor, too sharp to be easy to hold but too soft to really have a purpose anymore. He could be charming in conversation, but it was a mystery what triggered him at times. Anna didn’t like to indulge in him more than she had to. They weren’t friends but… well…</p><p>To hear him say that he had no dreams made her feel inextricably sorry for him.  Everyone deserved to have dreams and happiness, just like she had with Mr. Bates. She pitied him, though she knew if she told him as much he’d pop a screw and start shouting down the house. The other night, in bed, Anna had lamented Thomas’ inability to take a compliment and be Andy’s best man.</p><p>In her ear, Mr. Bates had whispered <em>“There’s more to it than that, and you know it.” </em></p><p>And maybe she did. She just didn’t like to acknowledge it anymore. She was finished with living her life constantly in fear and doubt. Those dark days were behind her. If Thomas had problems they were his alone. That didn’t make them any more comfortable to witness though.</p><p> </p><p>“Mrs. Hughes, have you ever heard him say something that worried you?” Anna asked, pulling out yet another pair of shoes to see that they were a 38 (what rotten luck).</p><p>Mrs. Hughes just smiled, amused by her antics. “Anna if I took everything that Thomas said to heart, I’d have palpitations.”</p><p>But she still was afraid; the way he’d said it. The look in his eyes. Like all the light had gone out years ago.</p><p>“Why?” Mrs. Hughes asked her. “What did he say? You know you can tell me.”</p><p>“Well…” She didn’t like spreading tales. Particularly on Thomas, when he was so private. But what he’d said had been disturbing, and given his history of mental health, Anna wanted a second opinion from someone who knew him best.</p><p>“Anna,” Mrs. Hughes smiled. “I was in that bathroom. I know how he is. You can trust me.”</p><p>That was as good a testimony as any in this case. “He said he didn’t have dreams anymore, only nightmares. And that sort of talk is so black, I worried that maybe he was…” Anna trailed off, not wanting to put to words what she was feeling. It was almost like invoking bad luck.</p><p>Instead of being concerned, however, Mrs. Hughes just gave her a small smile and patted her kindly on the arm. “Let him be,” She soothed. “We can’t understand what he’s going through. It’s not natural. God put this burden on his shoulders because he knew that Thomas could handle it. That says a lot for his strength, don’t you think?”</p><p>“… But… last summer,” Anna didn’t finish her sentence. Instead, she contented herself with finally finding a pair of size forty shoes and handing them to Mrs. Hughes so that she could dust them off.</p><p>“We’ll keep an eye on him,” She assured her. “Now. You said you had something you wanted to tell me? Is that it, or is there more?”</p><p>“There’s more,” Anna said. Mrs. Hughes smiled, and offered her a sweeping hand towards the door.</p><p>“I’ll give Thomas his shoes, and we’ll talk in my office,” She said. The world was put right by her guiding hand.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>Now in new shoes (though sans socks), Thomas stood in the small library with Lord Grantham before him. Though the sun was shining brightly beyond the recently cleaned windows, and the sound of birds song was distant in the air, Lord Grantham was so morose and broken that Thomas half expected him to burst into tears at any moment. It was incredibly irritating for him, given that he’d only just recently left the house and there had been no show of emotion then. If anything, they’d all been glad to see him gone. And it wasn’t like Bates was even going that far-! Merely half a mile! But here Lord Grantham was, as blue as blue could be.</p><p>“It’s a bit of a sad thing, for me at least,” Lord Grantham looked like someone was dying. Thomas tried not to be irritated at the man but it was hard. Bates and Anna had given him more than enough over the years. IT was time for him to let go of this notion of the past. They could no longer pretend they were living in the 19<sup>th</sup> century.</p><p>“It will be sad for many people, M’lord,” Thomas said.</p><p>“But, now that I think about it… why not,” Lord Grantham relaxed into the office with a groan. Like he had any right to feel tired. “But what will we do to fill the spots?”</p><p>“Well… we can put out an ad,” Thomas offered. “I can tend to you while I look for a new valet, and Lady Mary can be tended to by Ms. Baxter.” This wasn’t’ ideal but it could work. He’d done more during the war.</p><p>“Would you do that, Barrow?” Lord Grantham wondered. “I realize it’s a lot to take on.”</p><p>Actually, he didn’t. Now that Thomas thought about it, Lord Grantham didn’t know anything in regard to the difficulties of servitude.</p><p>“Times are changing, M’lord,” Was Thomas’ pale answer. God, how he wished he could speak frankly to the man. “It’s not like it used to be.”</p><p>“Yes, and that’s what saddens me,” Lord Grantham agreed. “I miss the days when we had a full house. I feel like a motorcar running on spare parts.”</p><p>Given that he was a spare part, Thomas did not find that sentence reassuring or kind.</p><p>“Well, I want to celebrate the Bates’ departure,” Lord Grantham said. “Will you organize it with Mrs. Hughes? Something for the family upstairs and down.”</p><p>“Yes, M’lord,” He’d expected nothing less. “Is that all?”</p><p>“I suppose so. Thank you, Barrow.”</p><p>Thomas left, and closed the door the small library behind him. What a putz!</p><p>He rolled his eyes, walking back towards the green baize door, only to greeted by Mrs. Hughes exiting it. She was clearly looking for him, for she smiled when she saw him and walked right up.</p><p>“Did you tell him?” Mrs. Hughes asked.</p><p>“I did,” Thomas said.</p><p>“Anna just told me,” Mrs. Hughes sounded a bit sad, not that he could blame her, Anna had always been her unspoken favorite.</p><p>“I told him we’d put out an ad,” Thomas said. “I’ll take care of him after Bates is gone and Baxter can handle Lady Mary until we find a new maid.”</p><p>“It’ll be tough,” Mrs. Hughes agreed, walking with him back towards the stairs. “It’s hard to find servants with talent now adays. It was easier during the times when you came along.”</p><p>“There was a compliment in there somewhere, but I’m struggling to find it.”</p><p>“You’re very good at what you do, don’t pretend.”</p><p>They entered the stairwell, but instead of going down, Mrs. Hughes paused him as if she wanted to talk about something slightly private.</p><p>“Anna also told me that you worried her… something about not having dreams?” Mrs. Hughes narrowed her eyes. “You have to remember Thomas, she’s the one who ran for Dr. Clarkson. So she’s a little… nervous when you say things like that.”</p><p>He let out a noise of irritation. Why did everyone in this house have to run their mouth? Was if possible, for a secret to be kept inside Downton? Somehow, he doubted it.</p><p>“I’m fine, Mrs. Hughes,” Thomas said.</p><p>“You’d tell me if you weren’t?” She asked.</p><p>He supposed it would be easy to lie and put her off, but she was getting older and was wiser to his antics. Even if he said ‘yes’, she probably wouldn’t believe him. So why not tell her the truth?</p><p>“No,” He said. She just nodded, accepting his decision.</p><p>“Would you tell someone?” she asked.</p><p>Baxter came to mind, and he knew that he could say ‘yes’ without lying. “Yes,” he said. “Baxter.”</p><p>“Ah,” Mrs. Hughes just beamed at him, like he’d impressed her by having a connection with another human being. “You’re growing Thomas. There was a time you wouldn’t tell us anything. I’m proud of you.”</p><p>“… I’m having a hard time finding the compliments in your words,” Thomas grumbled. With that, he walked off.</p><p> </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>Sorting out a party for the Bates wasn’t that hard to do with a lightened schedule and the understanding of the family. The Bates were scheduled to have their final day on a Friday so as to begin working on their new inn on Monday. It was to be called the Robin’s Egg, for a nest that Anna had supposedly found nearby, and the pair of them were practically skipping with delight up and down the halls. Johnny kept babbling to anyone who would listen about how he was to have his own bedroom, and how grand it would be to keep his toys in his own closet. George, who had always had his own bedroom and his own closet, wasn’t entirely impressed.</p><p>Mrs. Patmore made a small spread for the Bates’ farewell party, with a few party favorites that you’d mostly find with tea tray services. Mini Victoria sponges with lemon curd and cream, assorted scones of different flavors and spices, a blackberry pie with clotted cream, little salmon croquette canapes, sweet pea and leak tartlets, and classic cucumber sandwiches were spread about on simply trays. They decided to have their party during what normally would have been the servant’s resting hour after the family’s dinner, which was a grand thing for Johnny because it meant that he could stay up past his normal bedtime. You’d have thought, for all the fuss he was making, that he’d been allowed to drive Mr. Talbot’s motorcar.</p><p>The air was full of merry voices and the smells of savory pies, but Thomas couldn’t take heart in any of it. It reminded him far too much of the Carson’s return party, from when they’d got back after their honeymoon. That had been directly after the insufferable Gwen’s disastrous luncheon, so Thomas had done nothing but stand in the corner for two hours while the others had prattled on about how happy they were for everyone else. He was back in the same corner near the far side of the room, but this time permitted himself the small comfort of enjoying a salmon croquette canape. It was difficult though, because every so often Thomas would catch the eye of the one man who bothered him the most: Charles Carson.</p><p>He’d come up at Mrs. Hughes’ insistence, and was now swaggering about the room like he owned it, bequeathing everyone with his vast ‘wisdom’ on a myriad of subjects. Thomas supposed that it must be terribly disheartening to get to the near end of your life and realize you hadn’t done much with it. Carson, however, was so indifferent to anything outside the halls of Downton that it seemed he was the king of it. Pepper this bravado with a few compliments of “oh how we’ve missed you” and “Mr. Carson it’s so lovely to see you again”, and the man’s ego was as swollen as the berries on Mrs. Patmore’s scones.</p><p>“I hear Mr. Moseley is to be your best man, Andrew!” Mr. Carson said to Andy, who was looking slightly sheepish in Daisy’s shadow. “An excellent choice, you couldn’t have picked a better man.” Andy winced at this, and tried not to meet Thomas’ eye. Thomas did him the favor of pointedly ignoring looking at him, then quietly excused himself to retreat into his office. The others didn’t even notice him leaving, far too entranced with listening to Anna go on and on about what kind of curtains she was going to put up.</p><p>“I’m going to get a robin and keep him in a cage,” Anna was gushing to Mrs. Hughes and Lady Grantham, “He’ll cheer up our guests with bright song and make us really homey!”</p><p>“Oh how lovely,” Mrs. Hughes crooned.</p><p>“I can’t wait to see it,” Lady Grantham said.</p><p>As Thomas passed Mr. Bates, he distinctly heard the man whisper to Lord Grantham, “I’m getting a bird?”</p><p>“Apparently  you are,” Lord Grantham chuckled. Bates didn’t look too happy about it.</p><p>If Thomas were more of a friend to the man, he might have made a joke. Instead, he simply slipped away.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>In the quiet of his office, it was almost peaceful enough to pretend there wasn’t a party going on outside. Unfortunately, however, Carson had decided to take that moment to make a speech, and was boasting in such a way that it was almost impossible not to hear him through the door.</p><p> </p><p>“—Mr. Bates, Anna, it is with a terribly heavy heart that we must part from your company. Anna arrived here seventeen years ago, still just a girl and a housemaid. She was the model of piety and charity, ,the very soul and life of our staff—”</p><p>“Mr. Carson please,” Clearly Anna didn’t like being the center of attention.</p><p>“No, I must insist! You were nothing short of an angel amongst us!”</p><p>All the cooing and awing that followed made Thomas want to wretch.</p><p>“As good of a time for a cigarette as any,” He whispered, slipping back out of his office and heading for the area yard door. Unfortunately, now he could hear Carson even better, and the man had moved on to another subject.</p><p>“Mr. Bates, you are a man amongst men, courageous and determined in your pursuit of justice. You have cared for his lordship so tenderly through the years that I must confess I am moved-“</p><p>“I don’t think that’s deserved Mr. Carson—”</p><p>“Nonsense! It is, heartily! You are the best of us-“</p><p>Thomas quietly slipped outside, allowing the door to close softly behind him. Finally free of Mr. Carson’s grating voice and his disgusting rhetoric, Thomas felt like he could breath again.</p><p>He walked to the picnic table and sat down at it, taking in a long breath of the cool night air before reaching into his jacket and pulling out his cigarettes.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It was difficult to say why it grated him when others received praise. He supposed it had something to do with the fact that he never did (or if he did it was always a double edged sword). He didn’t know what it was like, to be praised. He supposed if he’d experienced it more in his life, he might have turned out happier. As it stood, Thomas knew he was lucky to not feel suicidal.</p><p>And maybe, now that he thought about it, that was the root of everything.</p><p>He could not help but remember that day incredibly well. How it had burned like fire when he’d drug his razor across his wrists. How the water in the bathtub had blurred from red to black as he’d lost consciousness. He could remember with avid clarity his final thought: <em>“Thank god it’s over”. </em>To wake up with his wrists bound naked in bed, to realize that it wasn’t actually over, had been so awful that he’d though the agony of it would kill him instead. But he hadn’t died that day, or the next day, or the day after that. Now it was a year later, and he was still alive. He couldn’t help but wonder why.</p><p>He was alive, but he wasn’t living. He didn’t have purpose. He didn’t have goals. He didn’t have dreams. He was a doll without paint on its face or clothes on its back. He had no identity besides the work that he did on a daily basis, and it humiliated him. Everyone had something, so why not him?</p><p>Maybe that’s why Richard had meant so much to him; he fingered the pendant underneath his shirt absently as he thought of that night in York. It had been something that was ‘his’. When he’d danced with Christopher in the basement of Turpin’s, it had been his first act of identity. It had been something that he could clearly claim for himself. It had been so freeing, so lovely, to simply dance and be happy. That’s why the arrest had destroyed him, well and truly. He’d been silly to think he could have something.</p><p>But Richard had urged him to simply be more circumspect. So maybe-</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>His train of thought was cut off by the door opening. He looked over his shoulder, and found Baxter in the sill. She was pensive, with a shawl over her shoulders to keep out the night chill. She closed the door behind her so that the pair of them could have some quiet.</p><p>“Thought I saw you slip out here,” She said.</p><p>Thomas just continued to smoke. He blew out a long column, reveling in the beauty of it twisting in the moonlight. Baxter sat beside him at the workbench, glad to get off her feet after a long day. It would be even longer tomorrow now that she was to dress both Lady Grantham and Lady Mary.</p><p>“Are you alright?” she asked, after a moment of complete silence.</p><p>“Why do you ask?” Thomas asked. He wondered if Mrs. Hughes had gone running to her.</p><p>“Because you don’t look alright,” She said. “And you’re not acting normal.”</p><p>“I wasn’t even born normal, Ms. Baxter, let’s not hold me to a high standard.”</p><p>“You’re not acting like yourself, then.”</p><p>“I don’t have a self.”</p><p>“What are you saying?”</p><p> </p><p>In truth, he didn’t know what he was saying. It was impossible to not have a self, to not have an identity, but there was nothing about Thomas that was his own. The only thing he possessed to his name was his trauma and how it had shaped him. All the things that ought to have defined him had been stripped away from him. The more he tried to think about things that made him ‘him’, the more he came up empty. What did other people think when they looked at him, he had to wonder?</p><p>“… Thomas, I know it’s hard for you,” Baxter spoke up. She was imploring him, knocking tentatively on a door that most dared not open. “I don’t know how hard, but I do know why. I know you struggle, and I know you feel deeply. But I need you to tell me if something is wrong. I can’t talk to you if you don’t let me in.”</p><p>But letting people in was not as simple as talking when they asked. It was allowing them to see the horrific vast chasm within him, that gaping maw in his soul… it was showing them the pain of every breath he took. The exhaustion in his bones, dragging him down to the earth.</p><p>He wondered what she would say, if she could see that hole.</p><p>“You should have let me die,” He did not look at her when he said it. “I shouldn’t have lived after that day.”</p><p>She was silent for a moment, digesting his pain. Then, she said, “Why do you think that?”</p><p>“I think I was meant to die that day,” Thomas said. “I think that was my fate, and that you intervened where you shouldn’t have-“</p><p>“But why do you think that?” She asked.</p><p>“I feel it in my soul,” Thomas said. “And I think sometimes, you feel it too.”</p><p>“I don’t,” She assured him in a rush. She almost sounded offended that he would even tag her in such a way.</p><p>“Look at the others,” Still, Thomas dared not meet her eyes. “Look at them leading their lives. Daisy and Andy getting married, the Bates with their inn… what life do I have compared to them?”</p><p>“The life you choose to lead.”</p><p>But the word ‘choose’ put such a hellish rage in his that he could not control himself. He jerked up from the bench, turning on her to bark: “How could you say I choose this?! You have absolutely no idea what I’d choose if I could! No idea at all!” And how could she, when he didn’t know either?</p><p>“I don’t mean to offend you!” She said, and he was slightly ashamed for having shouted at her. “It’s only that you can change your life if you want to-“</p><p>But he couldn’t. He couldn’t’ change the fact that he loved other men, or that he had a hole in his heart, or that life had bled out of all its color.</p><p>“You don’t know a thing about it.” Thomas said.</p><p>He turned to go, casting his cigarette away though it wasn’t half finished. He was tired of this conversation and didn’t even know how to have it in the first place.</p><p>Yet as he walked away, she called out to him and made him stop. “Are you scared to try or scared to fail?”</p><p>So lost was he that he’d never considered that question or its answer.</p><p>“Or,” She continued on. “Are you scared to even admit that you’re scared? Because then they’ll all know. And then you’ll have to admit it to yourself.”</p><p>But Thomas wasn’t scared. He knew the world for what it was now. He was at peace with his demons and knew they’d never go away.</p><p>“You should have let me die that day,” He said. He began to walk away-</p><p>“Richard Ellis!” She blurted out the name like one might throw a lifeline over a ship to save a drowning man. He wished he could walk away. He wished it was easy to pretend that Richard’s name was nothing to him. But that Cheshire Cat was stuck in his mind, and it called out to him with a broad cheeky smile. The cat assured him that everyone felt poorly about their soul from time to time. Nothing unusual to see there.</p><p>Funny how even the thought of a memory could calm him.</p><p>“I know you like him,” She blurted out. Even for her, this was dangerously close to impertinence where he was concerned. “I know the pair of you had a time out in York. And I won’t pretend to understand what goes on between you, but I will tell you what he said to me. When we were talking about you.”</p><p>Slowly, Thomas turned on his heel so that the leather sole of his borrowed shoe ground into the muck. The noise was off putting to the night air. So they had talked about him, had they?</p><p>“I said to him that you were my close friend from childhood. He asked me in confidence if you were different, not like other men. I said you were.”</p><p>So this, it seemed, was how Richard had known to ask him to York. It hadn’t been a leap of faith at all, it had been very calculated. Thomas had thought initially that Richard carried some secret knowledge of what gay men looked like. It was certainly knowledge that he’d never possessed. But it seemed that, like most people, Richard had to do his homework. It made him more human to Thomas, somehow. To know he’d been nervous, and worried about making the wrong move.</p><p>“He told me you were the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen,” Baxter said. Her words put a chill up his spine. To know that Richard had said such things about him, even before they’d gone to York. “That your soul shone like the sun.”</p><p>“I have been well informed that I do not have one,” Thomas replied.</p><p>Instead of being annoyed or off put, she simply said: “I think you should ask him that.”</p><p>And so, Thomas conceded her point.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Maybe it was just the atmosphere of sorrow from the party. Maybe it was the fact the Bates were leaving, and Thomas knew he never would. Maybe he was only tired, and the day had been long. But for whatever reason, he sat in his office with the door closed and locked, telephone in hand, calling Buckingham Palace.</p><p> </p><p>There was no way to aptly call the King of England unless you knew the private connection in. It was all a matter of passwords and code names. The telephone to Buckingham palace went a switchboard, and from there your call was directed. All lines were monitored both in and out, and the only way that you could reach members of the staff was to ask for them specifically by name. You couldn’t just call up and ask for the valet of the King, they were much too private for that. So when Thomas mentioned Richard Ellis’ name, it was only a matter of sitting and waiting.</p><p>And waiting…</p><p>He could not help but think of that night, as he sat. Of the way that Richard had tipped his hat, while waiting for Thomas at the car. How he’d been so coy and certain, even feet away from a police station that had just conducted a raid on an inverted nightclub. No fear at all.</p><p><em>“You just need to be more circumspect in future, Mr. Barrow,” </em>Richard had said, before pressing a chaste finger to his lips. Even now, Thomas could taste the fine Italian leather glove. He brought his own fingers up to his lips, trying to imitate the feeling. His heart was pounding in his breath, making the pendant beneath his bib jump.</p><p>That kiss… how soft and sweet-</p><p>
  <em>“Hello?” </em>
</p><p>Thomas hitched a breath, his eyes still shut. If he sat here and simply listened, he could pretend that Richard was right in front of him. That they were not miles away but were instead only inches apart.</p><p>“Richard…” Thomas said his name in yearning. There was a beat of silence, and at first he feared that Richard might hang up the phone… but then?</p><p><em>“I wondered when we’d meet again,” </em>Richard was smiling, Thomas could tell. That coy, Cheshire grin. <em>“Didn’t expect it to be so soon. Though you might keep me on a string.” </em></p><p>“I’m not the type,” Thomas said, for he’d never had patience in affairs of the heart.</p><p><em>“Sure you are,” </em>Richard teased, <em>“Just not on this subject.” </em>So it seemed the man understood him completely.</p><p>“You’re right,” Thomas said. He reached beneath his bib and touched the pendant upon his breast. “I’m holding your pendant and hearing your voice but somehow it’s hard to convey you’re still real. I have my eyes closed, I’m pretending you’re in front of me. I suppose you think that’s very silly.”</p><p><em>“No,” </em>He sounded oddly pleased, though he was much more relaxed in tone than Thomas. <em>“I’ll do it too.” </em>After a moment he carried on. <em>“Now we’re seeing the same thing.” </em>Which was, in fact, nothing.</p><p>
  <em>“So… now that we’re alone together in our own heads, what brought this call on? Missing me already?” </em>
</p><p>“It was difficult not to,” Thomas said. “Though I can’t say much more.”</p><p>
  <em>“Good thinking, you’re growing more circumspect. I’m proud.” </em>
</p><p>“I was an idiot that night, we both know that.”</p><p>
  <em>“Nah. I never thought you an idiot either way. It’s hard to deny food when you’re starving. That must have seemed like a banquet. I’m a bit jealous of the other. I hear a tango was involved. That’s what the sergeant said, at least.” </em>
</p><p>“I can’t remember much of it; it was all such a whirl.”</p><p>
  <em>“You get them more often down here, but I don’t tend to go to them…” </em>
</p><p>“No time?”</p><p><em>“Mm…” </em>Richard was thinking, <em>“Just not my idea of a good time out. I go to other places.” </em></p><p>“Like?”</p><p>
  <em>“Don’t want to ruin the surprise. I’ll take you soon.” </em>
</p><p>It was there, just there, the idea that Richard might want to surprise him with nights out, and that it would be soon they’d meet again. How could he convey in words, all that that meant to him?</p><p>“You don’t realize what it means to me,” Thomas said. “To hear you say such things.”</p><p><em>“Keep your eye on the horizon,” </em>Richard advised. <em>“There are some things that we can’t change in life, but there are others that we can. I intend to make the most of it, where new developments are concerned.” </em>But what were these new developments? Could he not say when the line was being monitored?</p><p>“Is it private?” Thomas asked.</p><p><em>“No, but it isn’t fixed yet,” </em>Richard admitted. <em>“So I need to play my cards close until I know more. You don’t mind do you? Waiting?” </em></p><p>“Not at all,” Thomas said, and this was the truth. Waiting for Richard was different than waiting for anything else. It was as natural as breathing. He could wait ten years, or ten minutes, his feelings and resolve would be the same.</p><p><em>“Bell board’s going off,” </em>Richard lamented, cursing under his breath. <em>“I’ll get back to you soon. Keep ahold of the pendant for me. I’ll be returning for it.” </em></p><p>And with that, he hung up the phone.</p><p> </p><p>With his eyes still closed, Thomas could pretend that Richard was right in front of him. He reached out with a hand, only to feel thin air, and opened his eyes to find himself alone his office.</p><p>He hung up the phone, feeling a bit like a fool if he were honest with himself.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Devil Incarnate</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Moseley makes a fool of himself but gets what he wants. Thomas gets called to the aid of a friend only to find himself out of his depth. Echoes from the past urge him to lean on new correspondence, only to learn something which surprises him.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter will contain spoilers from the Downton Abbey movie.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The departure of John and Anna Bates was devoid of golden mornings and doves singing. For so many years, Thomas thought the day he finally saw them leave that angels would appear on the mount and trumpet God’s heralding from heaven. Instead, the pair of them just stopped showing up for work. One morning, Thomas came downstairs to find that Bates was gone and Lord Grantham would have to be dressed by him from now on. The real change came from the lack of talk at the table. Without the Bates there were two less people to make conversation with, not that he ever made conversation with them in the first place. But it certainly was weird, not seeing that pouchy bitter visage across the table or Anna’s smug saintly little grin.</p><p>Of course, the problem with losing hands is that hands still had to be met. So since John Bates could no longer dress Lord Grantham, Thomas had to do so, which meant that it was all the more difficult for him to serve at meal times, particularly dinner. The answer came in the form of Moseley, who was more than happy to skip up from the schoolhouse in the evenings if only to don his old livery and woo Baxter. Honestly, if Thomas hadn’t been so damn desperate for help he might have thrown the rubbish out. Moseley was pathetic for the woman, tripping over his own two feet, smashing a servant’s serving plate and ruining a livery in the process. After that ridiculous episode with the Queen, one would think that Moseley had topped himself. It turned out though that man was a working clown and could churn out stupidity on such a fresh basis that Thomas himself was baffled.</p><p>It was a quiet Sunday afternoon, and the servants were settled in for their tea break. This was one of the very few times when people could sit and catch their breath. As butler, Thomas didn’t have such liberties. Still, he could sit at the table and work as good as anywhere else, and currently scanned the papers to see if there were any ads looking for valets or lady’s maids. Unfortunately, he could find nothing. This was par the course in changing times, no one wanted to be a servant anymore (not that  he could blame them). At the table, Andy and Daisy were chatting away, being doe eyed and generally unbearable while a maid named Helen worked on some stitching for an embroidered handkerchief. Baxter sat at the table scanning a lady’s magazine to order Lady Grantham a new shawl that she wanted in a particular mauve color.</p><p>The sound of the area door opening and shuffling feet on the flagstone caught Thomas’ attention. He looked up and saw Moseley coming up the hallway (which was odd since he wasn’t expected until around six). He was sweating profusely as if he’d been running from the town, and had the most petrified look on his face.</p><p>Thomas let out a groan, his brow furrowed, and his eyes shut to block out the offending sight.</p><p>“What?” Andy asked, confused.</p><p>“He’s back,” Thomas groaned.</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>But there was no need to answer, because right as Thomas opened his mouth to explain that their personal clown had returned, the honking shoes and big red nose burst through the servant’s hall door. Thomas didn’t even deign to look around, pursed lips lined in a scowl as he returned to his paper.</p><p>“Mr. Moseley!” Baxter smiled. From the way she said his name, you’d have thought he was Rudolph Valentino. As it stood, Moseley was nothing more than a dopey eyed nitwit, sweating profusely and bugged with terror as he clasped his hands and prostrated himself before the table.</p><p>“Ms. Baxter, I must speak with you urgently,” Mr. Mosely said. The way he’d gone about it, you’d wonder if someone were dead. Curious, Thomas pretended to read his newspaper but listened avidly; he was nothing if not a gossip.</p><p>“Is everything alright?” She asked, curious.</p><p>“No, everything is not alright.” Moseley said, “I am very sick.”</p><p>Was it poor of him that Thomas felt a tiny cheer of elation inside of him? He hoped whatever Moseley was ill with, it was fatal.</p><p><em>Watch the teeth, love, </em>Thomas heard Richard’s voice in his head.</p><p>“Oh dear,” Thomas muttered from behind his newspaper, shifting to the next page with a ruffling noise. “Not on the livery I beg you, we’re down to the last few-“</p><p>“I must confess my sickness to you now or I will surely die.”</p><p>“Well we mustn’t get our hopes up,” Thomas said dryly. Quite suddenly, his newspaper was yanked from his grip by Baxter, who was glaring at him as if he’d uttered a curse word in front of a toddler. Thomas blinked at her owlishly, and she relinquished her grip of his paper in clear warning. Slightly cowed, he hid behind it again.</p><p>“What’s wrong, Mr. Moseley,” Baxter said. “You can tell me.”</p><p>For a moment, Moseley just stared her, gaping, and desperately trying to form words. Thomas noted a bead of sweat trickle down his temple. At the other end of the table, Andy, Daisy, and Helen watched with avid interest.</p><p>“… I’m in love with you,” Mr. Moseley finally said.</p><p>Baxter just stared, a doe in the headlights of a passing motorcar.</p><p>Quite suddenly, there was an acute sound of noise from the other end of the table, as Andy and Helen both got out of their chairs.</p><p>“I have to… mend a bib,” Andy said lamely, heading out of the hall and towards the kitchen. He dragged Daisy behind him who was grinning from ear to ear with girlish delight. Helen, on the other hand, looked terribly embarrassed.</p><p>“Mrs. Hughes wouldn’t want me here,” Helen said, which was quite correct. She left for the kitchen as well, probably to gossip by the stove with Mrs. Patmore.</p><p>This left only Thomas in the room, with Baxter still in shock and Moseley too weak to throw him out.</p><p>Slowly, Thomas sat down his paper and cautiously picked up his teacup to take a long sip. He rather wanted to hear the rest.</p><p>“Don’t mind me,” He murmured.</p><p>“Thomas,” Baxter muttered out of the corner of her mouth, her eyes narrowed and her glare ominous. Had it been any other moment, she might have drug him outside and thrashed him. AS it stood, she was too terrified to move.</p><p>“Nickelodeons are very expensive on a budget, Ms. Baxter,” Thomas said. “Please, allow me this.”</p><p>Knowing that he wouldn’t be budged, Baxter rose from her chair and tried to guide Moseley down the hall towards the area yard: “Why don’t we speak outside where it’s-“</p><p>“I beg of you, hear me out-“Moseley grabbed her hand, and in a shocking move held it tight to his breast. Baxter was so stunned by the move that she stopped mid-sentence, her breath hitching.</p><p>“Please… It’s taken all my courage to confess to you that I love you,” He said. “That I have always loved you from the very first day that we ever met. You are to me an angel of the highest mount. A precious gem in the core of this earth. My cherished one. And all I ask for is to take you to diner. To spend just one night with you, where you can be mine alone.”</p><p>Thomas took another sip of tea, inwardly noting that Moseley was rather poetic when he got going. Baxter was still silent, too shocked to reply. Moseley looked ready to cry.</p><p>“… Mr. Moseley—” she tried to begin in a whisper, but as if sensing she might turn him down, he cut her off and quickly pressed on.</p><p>“I know I’m not worthy of you—”</p><p>“Mr. Moseley-“</p><p>“I know that I’m old, and my hair is thinning, and I’m not dashing or charming—”</p><p><em>Understatement of the century, </em>Thomas thought dryly.</p><p>“Mr. Moseley!” Baxter cried out, having to raise her voice so that she could finally be heard. He waited with bated breath, terrified. But she began to smile, her cheeks tinged with blush and delight. She seemed almost ready to cry.</p><p>“If you would like to take me to dinner, I will gladly accept.” She said.</p><p>Thomas mimicked a shocked expression, though of course none of this was shocking to him. “Dinner accepted,” he whispered to himself, setting his teacup down.</p><p>“Dinner,” Moseley repeated the word as if in prayer.</p><p>“Dinner,” Baxter agreed.</p><p>“Dinner,” Thomas echoed, just for the hell of it.</p><p>“Really?” Moseley whimpered.</p><p>“Really.” Baxter said with a smile.</p><p>And before Thomas could mock them and echo ‘really’, Moseley heaved and vomited all over the floor between the pair of them.</p><p>Thomas yowled, leaping from his chair to get away from the steaming pile of sick. Moseley had gone gray and seemed ready to faint from shock.</p><p>“Jesus Christ!” Thomas snarled, furious at the mess. “You’re a proper knob head you are!”</p><p>“Sorry Mr. Barrow-“Moseley tried to say. Thomas just stormed out of the room, inwardly contemplating how much money it would take to hire a hitman to kill Moseley.</p><p> </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>The news that Mr. Moseley and Ms. Baxter were  now courting shouldn’t have been such a shock, but from the way that everyone reacted you’d have thought it came completely out of the blue. It was all anyone could talk about, and twice Mrs. Hughes had to chastise the days maids for bunking off work and wondering about wedding bells in the corner. Baxter would float around like she were in a dream, which was ridiculous because if Thomas was in her shoes he’d have thought himself in hell. Moseley, for his part, had stopped being a nervous wreck at mealtimes and was no longer breaking plates, ruining liveries, or vomiting in the servant’s hall.</p><p>So that was nice.</p><p>A few days later, just as he’d promised, Mr. Moseley came to collect Baxter and take her to town where they were scheduled to have dinner at a café known for its pies and custards. He might have been annoyed, had it not been for the serene look on Baxter’s face as she left. It meant that Anna had to come up from the village to dress their ladyships for dinner, but no one minded that much. To everyone else, Anna was sorely missed and it was good to catch her up on the gossip. The family didn’t care who dressed then, so long as someone did.</p><p>Now it was after dinner, and Baxter had returned to go to bed early. She was tired from her outing, and red in the face. Thomas tried to not notice that her lips looked swollen, and instead hypothesized that a bee must have flown out of a bush and stung her on her bottom lip. Yes… yes that’s what happened. There was certainly no way that Moseley put his wretched lips on hers. No way at all.</p><p>In the kitchen, Mrs. Patmore was gossiping to everyone who would listen about what she’d heard from Mr. Bakewell on her trip into town that evening. Against the wall, Thomas sipped on a cup of tea and tried to act nonchalant. It was difficult to do when his coworkers were so annoying.</p><p>“Mr. Bakewell said that he saw Mr. Moseley and Ms. Baxter at the Anne’s Lace Café, having a meal and holding hands atop the table!” Mrs. Patmore made a gawking noise at this, though there was a lovely smile across her face. “Can you believe it?” she turned, gesturing to the others. “Holding hands atop the table. What a time to be alive.”</p><p><em>Christ you’re repressed, </em>Thomas thought irritably.</p><p>“That’s not so out of the ordinary is it?” Daisy wasn’t as impressed. “Holding hands.”</p><p>“It was when I was a young girl-!” Mrs. Patmore pushed her way through a sea of kitchen maids to begin dolloping oil into a muffin tin. “I can remember going on a walk through the park with Harry Dodson, and he actually got so close to me that I felt our fingertips brush! Well-“ She snorted, hands on hips. “I never wanted to go for a walk after that! He tried to apologize but my father chased him off with a broom.”</p><p>“And right he was too,” Thomas said sarcastically. Mrs. Patmore just glared at him.</p><p>“I agree with Thomas,” Daisy warned, causing Mrs. Patmore to just get more riled up. “It’s just silly to get in a twist over holding hands. It’s not like he tried to kiss you or anything.”</p><p>“Well I come from a generation where we did things properly,” Mrs. Patmore replied, which Thomas supposed was the easiest excuse for getting out of tough questions.</p><p>“But surely things have gotten more relaxed since you were young.” Daisy complained. She looked about the room, from the kitchen maids who were younger than her to Andy who was about her age, to Mrs. Hughes who was Mrs. Patmore’s age, and then to Thomas. Her eyes lit up. “How old are you?” She asked.</p><p>Thomas was taken aback. “I beg your pardon?” He grumbled.</p><p>“Daisy, that’s not a question you ask your butler,” Mrs. Hughes warned. Sitting at Mrs. Patmore’s side table, she was busy checking the weekly tallies of jams and preserves.</p><p>“I only mean that he’s another generation to ask,” Daisy apologized. Andy’s my age, the maids are younger than use, but Thomas is in between your age and ours.</p><p>That wasn’t exactly a compliment in his eyes.</p><p>“I’m thirty-seven, if you must know,” He grumbled. “Not that it’s any of your business.’</p><p>“So, you were born in 1890,” Daisy said. “So, when you were young, did you ever hold hands when you went on a date? Or is this really such a new-fangled idea?”</p><p>Thomas did not immediately reply, embarrassed and irritated at being put on the spot. The fact of the matter was that he didn’t get to have dates. He didn’t get to go to shops or cafes and hold hands while making doe eyes across the table. There were no lovely walks in the park or moments of young passion behind the bike sheds. What he got, he got in the darkness when no one was looking. Hurried, frantic, and desperate to feel a connection before someone spotted them and called the police.</p><p>In the silence that met her words, Daisy seemed to realize that she’d crossed a line. She paused her beating of the Yorkshire batter, nervous.</p><p>“Mr. Barrow?” She asked.</p><p>“Not everyone is lucky enough to hold hands in public, Daisy,” Thomas warned.</p><p>She just rolled her eyes, unimpressed. “It has nothing to do with luck,” She declared. “Plenty of people will want to hold your hand if you’re not nasty. You were so mean for so long; you probably blew all your chances of finding someone nice. You ought to have been more kind when you were my age. That’s probably why no one ever held your hand.”</p><p>Thomas was stung, not only by Daisy’s ignorance but also by the weight of her words. He had undoubtedly wasted many year by being nasty… but that nastiness had come from a deep well of sorrow and shame within him. Unable to handle this myriad of emotions in front of others, Thomas decided to leave the kitchen and return to his office where he could think in privacy. Shutting the door and hiding behind his desk, he glowered and fumed wishing he could simply unload on Daisy and every other idiot that lived in this blasted house.</p><p>What he would give for Richard in this moment to walk through the door and tell him that all would be well. He fumbled beneath his bib to find his pendant laying warm against his chest and held it tight.</p><p>A gentle knock came upon his office door. Sensing he was about to get a bollocking, Thomas said: “I’m busy!”</p><p>“It’s me,” came Mrs. Hughes’ voice from the other side. “May I come in?”</p><p>Well he couldn’t rightly tell her to bugger off, could he?</p><p>“…Fine,” He complained loudly. She did so, shutting the door behind her.</p><p>She gave him a sympathetic smile that he automatically detested.</p><p>“She didn’t mean anything by it,” Mrs. Hughes urged. She walked forward a bit so that Thomas would have no choice but to confront her presence. “She’s too naïve to understand the things you endure.”</p><p>“Everyone in this house is,” Thomas muttered nastily. “You like to pretend that you understand, but you don’t. None of you do. You’re not even tolerant, not really. I suppose it’s nice to imagine that you care, but deep down if you were to actually see me happy you’d probably be disgusted and want me to hide it-“</p><p>“That’s not true,” Mrs. Hughes said at once, but Thomas could sense the humiliation at the edge of her words. Clearly he’d struck a nerve by reminding her that she wasn’t as tolerant as she imagined. “I’d be more than happy to see you settled with someone.”</p><p>He didn’t believe her and refused to answer. Instead he just looked out his office window, wishing time would pass.</p><p>“… I expect it’s hard, knowing what happened in York,” Mrs. Hughes said.</p><p>He imagined he could hide his guilt or knowledge, but it was difficult. Mrs. Hughes filled an odd role in his life and was almost like a mother to him. He didn’t like to lie to her, not if he could avoid it.</p><p>“… More than you know,” He finally said.</p><p>“I’m just relieved you weren’t caught up in it,” She said. “Did you know anyone that got caught?”</p><p>Once again, he did not answer. He had no idea what she would say if she knew the truth, but he doubted that she’d be thrilled. Admitting that he’d gone and danced in a public hall would be tantamount to admitting he’d been hopeful for understanding or happiness. That sort of naivety was worse than being branded a criminal.</p><p>“…Thomas?” She murmured.</p><p>“I don’t wish to speak about this, Mrs. Hughes.” Thomas said. “Now or ever gain.”</p><p>She just sighed, saddened for his circumstances. Then, she said. “There is a person out there for you, Thomas. I believe it firmly. You just haven’t met him yet.”</p><p>But she was wrong.</p><p>“… You’re wrong.” He said after a long moment of silence. Mrs. Hughes was taken aback. “That’s why I’m so sad. Ignorance is bliss.”</p><p>“… I…” She turned almost distrustful, “I hope you’re not referring to someone from the past.”</p><p>Confused, Thomas looked over at her. Her eyes were narrowed with distaste.</p><p>“What?” He was confused too, now.</p><p>“Only, are you referencing… James?” She asked.</p><p>“Huh-?” At first, Thomas had no idea who she was talking about. It had been years since he’d thought of Jimmy Kent. But then the shoe dropped (practically from outer space) and Thomas began to wave it off. “No! God no. I’m well and truly over that stupid mistake.” As if he needed to go about his life pining after a straight man with an ego complex.</p><p>“I’m glad to hear you recognize it as one,” Mrs. Hughes scoffed a little, folding her arms over her chest. Clearly the memory Jimmy had left her with had not been a flattering one.</p><p>“Hard not to when it nearly ruined my life,” Thomas warned. Those had been some of the darkest weeks of his life (not including his suicide attempt). God, how terrified he’d ben of the inevitable end!</p><p>“… So…” Mrs. Hughes pressed a little more. “Who is this person?”</p><p>Thomas did not answer. Mrs. Hughes raised her eyebrows knowingly.</p><p>“You know you can tell me, Thomas,” She said with a gentle lilt. “I won’t bite.”</p><p>He just coughed, shifted in his seat, and refused to look at her. Hopefully, she could take the hint.</p><p>“Well, do they like you back?” Mrs. Hughes asked. Given that Richard had been the one to take him to York, bail him out of jail, and kiss him in plain daylight, Thomas was prone to say ‘yes’.</p><p>“… Yes,” He finally said.</p><p>“well then!” She seemed mighty pleased with herself, which was queer because she’d done nothing to warrant praise. “Why not go and visit him?”</p><p>“It’s not that simple, Mrs. Hughes,” Thomas said. What was he supposed to do? Catch a train to London on his half day and stand at the gates of Buckingham Palace gazing wistfully into the lower windows for thirty minutes before immediately catching a train back to make it to work on time?</p><p>Unimpressed, Mrs. Hughes walk to the door.</p><p>“I can’t believe you,” She said. “A beau all your own and you’re not even proud enough to go see them. Well I don’t approve of it, Thomas. You’re young and healthy, take advantage of it and let yourself have a good night or two. Go enjoy a meal with him, have a glass of wine. It’ll do you good!”</p><p>Thomas’ eye twitched from the stress she put him under.</p><p> </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>Now that Baxter and Moseley were regularly snogging and the Bates were gone, Thomas’ social world was shrinking to Andy, Daisy, and Mrs. Patmore. This wasn’t annoying because he didn’t like to talk to anyone anyway, but he did rather miss Baxter.</p><p>Alright, that was a lie. He really missed Baxter.</p><p>So often, he’d try to catch her attention but she was too busy tucked into a corner with her prince charming. Thomas would try not to look jealous but it was hard because he <em>was </em>jealous damnit! Baxter was his best friend, at times his only friend, and he really wanted to talk to her about his day or tease her about her date. Instead all he got to see was the back of her head while she blathered Moseley’s ear off about how handsome he was.</p><p>A few days after their date at the café, Moseley had decided to eat dinner with the staff (this was quickly becoming his  new routine), and was elbow to elbow with Baxter whispering in her ear all the pleasant little things that lovers like to hear.</p><p>At the head of the table, Thomas scowled and kept to his teacup. When Albert made his rounds dispensing evening mail, Thomas took them all in a bunch and began to pass them out down the table.</p><p>Daisy had gotten a new course book for medieval history. Andy was working on cursive with his own workbook. Mrs. Hughes had a few magazines. Baxter had a letter from a relative, bills, bills, bills—so many bills that he could dunk them in a tub and swim in them.</p><p>And then his own name.</p><p>Thomas paused, for he didn’t normally get mail. At first, he thought it might be from Richard and his heart leapt, but then he checked the sender and noted from the crest that it had come from York County Prison.</p><p>There could be no denying who had written to him.</p><p>With growing dread, mindless to how the others chatted around him, he took his dinner knife and carefully opened the letter. He was expecting sheets and sheets, yelling at him and cursing his existence. Instead he only found one with neat tight writing:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Come see me, I need to speak with you. York County Prison. Hours from 12 to 5, M to F. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Chris Webster </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>His breath caught in his throat. Thomas had no way of knowing how Christopher had gotten his address… but… well.</p><p>He had to go. There was no option but to, after all that the man had suffered in Thomas’ name. He looked up at the clock on the mantel and noted that it read 11:11 at night. He would stand no chance of seeing Christopher today, and tomorrow as Friday. His best bet was to leave tomorrow morning early enough to catch the train to York and wait until noon to be let in. But what if one of the policemen at the prison recognized him from the night of the raid on Turpins? What would they say or do? Would they grab him and not let him go? Or did they need more concrete evidence before they started snatching people? How he wished he had someone to talk to.</p><p>“Mr. Barrow?” Baxter was watching him, noting the myriad changes in his expressions. Thomas tried to keep a neutral face, but it was difficult.</p><p>“Mrs. Hughes, I have an errand to run tomorrow in York at noon. Can you handle things without me?” Thomas asked. Mrs. Hughes didn’t even look up from her lady’s magazine.</p><p>“Certainly,” She said, flipping a page to see a new sewing pattern for lace. “Whatever for though?”</p><p>“Nothing important but I need to get it done soon,” Thomas evaded the topic as much as he could. To make sure that nobody saw the letter or the crest it bore, Thomas tucked it into his jacket pocket.</p><p>So pointless was his existence that no one else at the table seemed to notice anything was wrong. Conversations resumed without his input, and he slipped into a gray malaise at the head of the table completely ignored.</p><p> </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>The very next day, Thomas donned his traveling clothes and left Downton Abbey quite early. He walked with jagged purpose, his feet heavy in the dirt as he made a beeline for the main road and took it into the village. The whole half hour he walked without once asking for a ride from passing motorists, too caught up in his own head to make much sense of anything else.</p><p>The world around him was buzzing as he boarded a train for York. The world rushed past through dirty window panes and no one seemed to notice or care that Thomas was in turmoil. Christopher’s letter was still in his jacket pocket, burning him with the weight of its words. The man wanted to speak with him, needed some type of absolution or understanding. Thomas knew he could not stay away, that for all that Christopher had suffered, Thomas owed him much more than he could ever openly acknowledge. That night in the jail cell, Christopher had held him as if they were lovers intimate for years. He didn’t even know his full name, and still he’d been determined to help him. Such selflessness in the face of peril had put Christopher on a pedestal in Thomas’ eyes.</p><p>He got off the train at close to eleven, and made his way to the edge of York where the York County Prison stood imposing and dark on the skyline. It was quiet today, not many people were visiting.</p><p>As Thomas walked towards it, his mind was racing.</p><p>John Bates had once been imprisoned here a year. Anna had come to visit him several times. As he walked over the bridge separating the prison from the main road, he wondered if she’d stepped on the same stones as he. If she’d been just as frightened and alone. He wondered, as he was led through the doors by a policeman and taken to a smaller waiting room for an open holding cell to come available. He wondered, as the policeman finally came back at 11:50 to collect him if she’d looked at all the windows and the bars, wondered if she’d imagined John’s face slipping past just like Thomas was thinking of Christopher’s.</p><p>Of how it could very well have been his own fate to end up here if Richard hadn’t saved him.</p><p>They entered the holding cells, with the policeman as an escort. The walked past several cues of men with their wives weeping and their lawyers whispering in comfort and worry. Each one was grizzled, in a faded gray cloth jumpsuit that barely kept out the English damp. Only one man was alone in his cell, but his face was bowed and Thomas could not see what he looked like. He was a little too taken captive by the man who waited in the fifth cell from the left.</p><p>Chris Webster.</p><p>“Oh god-“ the words slipped from his mouth before he could stop them. The sight of Christopher in jail blues and chained… it… it robbed him of his senses. This man was in jail because of him- because of one stupid moment of foolishness-!</p><p>It took every bit of moral resolve not to break down and weep before Christopher while the policeman glared from the door. Thomas was pointed to a chair and made to sit. Now only a table separated them, but for all its divide it was like they were on opposite sides of a canyon.</p><p>But Christopher was just as flippant and swaggering as he’d been outside of jail. How could he remain so at ease when Thomas was shaking in his boots? Somehow the filth and chilly lighting didn’t seem to faze Christopher. He sat apart from the whole scene, as if he was somehow just here to enjoy the show and not actually a prisoner doing time.</p><p>“What are you ‘oh god’ing?” Christopher grinned. “You’re not the one in chains.”</p><p>It was a horrible truth, and one that made Thomas sick to his stomach. Well aware of policeman standing at the door and how very easily the tables could turn, every word that came out of his mouth was calculated and weighed.</p><p>He felt like he was balancing on a tight rope over a lake of fire. One slip, and he burn for an eternity.</p><p>“Christopher, I’m so sorry,” Thomas said. “This is all my fault.”</p><p>“No it weren’t,” He shot him down at once, shaking his head and licking his dried lips. Thomas noted there was a crack at the corner of his mouth like he’d been sucker punched. “It were mine. I should have shot my way out that night but I forgot my gun.”</p><p>He wasn’t a fan of black humor in these moments. Not when a cop was five feet away. “Don’t even say such things,” Thomas berated him. “You’re better than that.”</p><p>“I’m really not,” Christopher just grinned, like it were all some sick sort of joke. “Sad we got interrupted though. Thinking of me often?”</p><p>“Thinking of getting you a lawyer,” Thomas muttered, and it was quite true.</p><p>Christopher just scoffed, now he was the one to be amused by the dark jokes. “Don’t even bother, kiddo. No lawyer would touch my case with a ten-foot pole. This isn’t my first time in jail. But as god as my witness it’s going to be last.”</p><p>Thomas’ throat closed up, as if he were the one in danger of the noose. “Christopher, don’t say that. There’s still a chance. I don’t know what for, but there has to be a chance. If there’s a God that can see your circumstances-“</p><p>“God?” The word seemed to sour Christopher’s good mood. “Kid, God <em>made </em>our circumstances. That’s why I side with the Devil. At least he’s straight forward when he damn’s you. Doesn’t work in mysterious ways.”</p><p>“You’re not with the devil,” Thomas said. Christopher was back to grinning.</p><p>“How do you know that?” He asked. “I could be. I’m wicked enough to be.”</p><p>“No, you’re not,” Thomas said. Christopher’s smile warmed, clearly he wasn’t used to being complimented. “I’d know if you were. I wouldn’t be here if you were.”</p><p>A moment of silence passed. At the door, the policeman was watching Thomas with narrowed eyes. Their dance around topics and labels was a routine and practiced one. So long as they never said anything damning, Thomas was safe. At the same time, Thomas had a feeling the man was able to put two and two together on some level.</p><p>“You’re a nice kid,” Christopher finally sid, “But you’re a bad judge of character.”</p><p>“Stop calling me kid,” Thomas said. “I’m thirty-seven.”</p><p>“Forty two…” Christopher sing songed, eyebrows waggling. “Kiddo.” Thomas laughed, rolling his eyes. Honestly, five years difference and he was an infant? “So tell me, what have you been up to eh? Where do you hail from?”</p><p>“Downton Abbey. In Grantham,” Thomas was taken aback, hadn’t Christopher sent him a note? “But why don’t you know that? You sent me a note.”</p><p>“Nah, I didn’t,” Christopher said. “I had a friend send you the note. See, he recognized you. Apparently he’d been a valet at some point for a Lord Gossip.”</p><p>Thomas knew the name well, Lord Gossip was one of Lord Grantham’s old billiard partners who occasionally came over for shoots. As much as Thomas tried, however, he couldn’t place the face of his valet. It had been far too many years since Lord Gossip had come to Downton.</p><p>“Oh,” Thomas said. He felt oddly put off. “I see…. Well… yeah it’s Downton. Near Thirsk and Rippon.”</p><p>“Ah…” Christopher murmured. “I’m from Hull.”</p><p>Well that was unfortunate. “Downton is a treat compared to Hull.”</p><p>“A garbage bin is a treat compared to Hull,” Christopher grumbled.</p><p>But this back and forth while soothing was not enough to sate the situation. Something needed to be done, and while Thomas knew that going to a lawyer was pretty much useless, he still had to try.</p><p>“Is there anything I can do for you?” He asked. “Can I contact your family or… a friend? Anyone?”</p><p>“Mm?” Christopher was taken aback by this. “Oh, nah. Nah, all my friends are in here-“ he jerked a thumb over his shoulder to the other interview cells where inmates were speaking to their loved ones. “Well… most of them.” At this, he winked. “Don’t worry, we’re getting along swimmingly.”</p><p>But at the insistence that all was well, the universe seemed to recognize that two gay men were having a decent conversation and wanted to prove them wrong. A sudden fight broke out from two holding cells over, where a man was suddenly bent about in animalistic rage. His screams and lurches were like something out of a frightening novel, and he flipped the table to smash it into the bars. Despite how dangerous it would be to be found out, Thomas instinctively reached across the table to Christopher who grabbed him back, eyes flashing with knowing.</p><p>The angry man was now being drug forcibly from the cell and was put in a straight jacket to keep him still lest he injure himself in the struggle. As he staggered past in the arms of five officers, Thomas briefly caught a glimpse of his face—</p><p>His eyes were blue, a deep blazing penetrating blue, and they were full of rage.</p><p>Thomas had seen those eyes before.</p><p>He gaped, unable to close his mouth or remember himself as the man vanished down the hall back towards the jail cells. The only things he left behind were a trail of destruction and two thin black trails of poor leather left upon the scuffed stone floor.</p><p>When Thomas felt a jerking sensation upon his arm, he was momentarily startled back to reality to find his own police officer furious at him touching Christopher.</p><p>“Don’t touch the prisoners!” the man ordered. “Are you daft?!”</p><p>“I-“ But Thomas could not even address the fact that he’d touched Christopher. He had to know who that man was. “Who was that man? The man that-“ he pointed out towards the other holding cells where the fragments of the table now lay victim upon the floor. “Who was that man?” He simply had to know.</p><p>But instead of looking irritated, the policeman seemed confused. “Thought you of all people would know,” The man said.</p><p>“No,” Thomas said. “Why should I?”</p><p>Uncomfortable, the officer gestured between them. “Hurry it up.”</p><p>Thomas looked back over to Christopher, who was just grinning away with dark humor. Why was any of this funny?</p><p>“Who was that man?” Thomas retook his seat. “I’ve seen him before, but I don’t know where.”</p><p>“That’s my boss,” Christopher explained. “Real fun guy, I may introduce you one day, he’s got a bit of a temper though so don’t take it personally. He likes to kill policeman for fun.”</p><p>“Enough blather-“ The policeman interjected. “Finish it up before I do it for you.”</p><p>Embarrassed, Thomas began to curl up a bit in his chair. Christopher didn’t look amused.</p><p>“Ey-“ he tried for a bit of kindness, but it didn’t do much to make him feel better. “Don’t worry. I’ll be seeing you soon.”</p><p>Thomas was taken aback. Next to him, the police officer bristled and began to sweat with nerves.</p><p>“What?” Thomas was confused. How would Christopher be seeing him soon?</p><p>But Christopher just smiled, looked at the police officer, and snapped his fingers as if this was some sort of nefarious signal for a riot to break out. Unnerved, the police officer grabbed Christopher by the arm and jerked him out of his chair.</p><p>“Alright, that’s enough!” The man had clearly reached the limit of his patience. He dragged Christopher to the door of the holding cell, leaving Thomas in their wake both frightened and confused. What was going to happen? The police officer pushed Christopher against the wall, his baton up and in his face in clear warning: <em>I will hurt you. </em></p><p>“If you think I’m gonna let you have your wicked way, you’re more out of your mind that I thought,” the policeman growled.</p><p>Christopher just smiled, nose to nose with death. “Careful Charlie,” he sing songed. “There’ll come a day when you’ll wish you hadn’t lain a hand on me, and you know it.”</p><p>“I’m not scared of you, Webster.” The policeman rebuked.</p><p>“Oh ho….” He laughed, tickled by the lie. “Yes, you are.”</p><p>And Thomas could see it too in the man’s eyes. He wasn’t scared of Christopher. He was terrified. But why? Why was he scared, and why was Christopher acting so strange? This visit had turned into a nightmare, and Thomas couldn’t figure out where the change had come from!</p><p>The policeman flagged down a passing officer who was now in the process of repairing the broken meeting table. He unlocked the holding cell door and shoved Christopher out into the waiting man’s arms.</p><p>“Get him out of here,” The police officer demanded. “Keep him isolated, I don’t want him talking with anyone.”</p><p>“Got it,” and now Christopher was being dragged away, and Thomas could do nothing but watch. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something anything that might bring Christopher comfort.</p><p>But it was too late… he was already gone. Now Thomas was alone with the officer. The man still looked unnerved.</p><p>“…Come on,” The police officer ordered, gesturing with a sharp hand for Thomas to follow him out of the cell. He did so, but not quietly.</p><p>“What were that all about?” Thomas demanded, agog. “Why did things get so crazy? Why did he say that to you?”</p><p>“Your little friend is the devil incarnate,” The police officer led Thomas back through the double flagged doors and out into the private courtyard which could take him to the streets through the main lobby. But before he could turn to go, Thomas paused him with a hand in earnest attempt at understanding.</p><p>“Why?” Thomas asked the man. “Why is he the devil incarnate?” For he didn’t believe for a second this had anything to do with Christopher being gay. There was something more going on here…. Something nefarious.</p><p>The policeman looked left and right, found them in a moment of privacy, then leaned in until only they could hear.</p><p>“… I know what you are,” the man whispered. Thomas’ blood went cold. “To him. Do yourself a favor… don’t come back here, and don’t see him anymore. Your beau is evil.” He leaned back, gave Thomas a knowing look, and then left him in the courtyard alone.</p><p>Frightened witless, Thomas fled.</p><p> </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>Thomas returned mid-afternoon, but did not serve the family until that night at dinner. It took him several hours to compose himself, sitting in his room alone and breathing slowly in through his nose and out through his mouth. He didn’t like to admit it, it made him feel weak and alone… but he was scared.</p><p>He was so damn scared.</p><p>That policeman had known what he was. How? How in the <em>hell </em>had he known? Was it because Thomas had visited Christopher or touched him when the riot broke out? Or because he recognized Thomas that night from the club? Or was it even something worse… the way he walked or talked?</p><p>How did everyone seem to know his worst secret?</p><p>He tried to comfort himself as he put his livery back on and headed downstairs for the evening. He tried to tell himself that the policeman hadn’t arrested him or even detained him. Maybe he was sympathetic to Thomas. Maybe he didn’t hate Christopher because he was gay. Maybe it was something else. But that just made him feel sick to his stomach too—</p><p>Why had the policeman said that Christopher was the devil? Why had he acted so strangely in that holding cell and been so flippant about threats and violence? That night at the club, Thomas hadn’t noticed anything odd about Christopher… and he’d gone to the police car without fuss or a fight. Why? Surely if he was a fighter, or evil on any thread, he’d have tried to take out the policeman. Was it because he’d been surrounded… or had he really just been unarmed.</p><p>And what if he had been armed, would he have shot people? Would Thomas have become a witness to a murder? Or worse, an accomplice? The idea of murdering anyone made his blood go cold. He wasn’t that sort of man. He didn’t think he could kill.</p><p>Serving the family across the table from Andy, all these thoughts raced in Thomas head as he tried to be numb and serve wine. He wished he could drop the decanter and scream till his throat went hoarse.</p><p>“Did you have a nice time in London?” Lord Grantham asked. Across the table, Lady Grantham continued to toy absently with her soup.</p><p>“Actually, no.” She admitted. When had she gone up to London? Christ he was clueless.</p><p>“No?” Lady Mary looked up, “Why not?”</p><p>Lady Grantham sighed, clearly debating on what to say and how to say it. Whatever had happened it wasn’t a topic she felt free to talk about in company.</p><p>“…Something rather… difficult happened.” Difficult was the key word. “And I suppose now is the best time to talk about it more than any.”</p><p>“Difficult how?” Lord Grantham caught the cue.</p><p>“Do you remember Sarah O’Brien?”</p><p>Thomas bristled, pausing in his rounds of wine. Across the table from him, Andy caught his eyes and held it confused. The name meant nothing to him.</p><p>Thomas swallowed, tried to keep calm, and resumed serving wine.</p><p>“It would be hard to forget her,” Lord Grantham sneered. His thoughts of the name went unspoken but clearly understood.</p><p>“Wasn’t that your maid?” Lady Mary said.” Sybil thought her odious.”</p><p>“She was odious,” Branson agreed from the far end. “I knew her downstairs while you lot were up here. Trust me, nobody liked her. Well-“ he paused, “Except Thomas.”</p><p>Thomas glared at him, wishing he could take the decanter and smash Branson over the head with it.</p><p>“Or am I wrong?” Branson toyed.</p><p>The tension between the two of them was palpable. Thomas straightened back up, refusing to serve the man wine.</p><p>“It’s Barrow now, sir, and you are wrong.” He warned on both charges. He despised being referred to by his first name from people who didn’t know him or understand him. What was more, Branson had departed from the downstairs long ago, and knew nothing of their troubles since. He was less a member of staff and more an annoying gnat in their ears, whispering tales of freedom. Him and that stupid Gwen both…</p><p>“Oh?” Branson wasn’t afraid to battle with words at the table. He even grinned, which only served to make Thomas angrier. He wondered if it showed on his face, because Andy was gaping at him as if he were baring fangs. “I thought you two were best friends.”</p><p>“…No sir,” Thomas said through gritted teeth. He hoped that all the anger and bitterness he felt on the subject could be apparent through his voice. Judging by Lady Mary’s face, it was.</p><p>“Tom, enough,” Lady Grantham cut him off before he could make more trouble at the table. “Anyways,” Lady Grantham looked back to her husband to continue her conversation. “I saw her in London. She’s been reduced to begging on the streets.”</p><p>“Good,” Lord Grantham said. Thomas couldn’t help but inwardly cheer. Served the bitch right!</p><p>“Robert!” Lady Grantham was taken aback by his lack of sensitivities. She was too weak to be trusted on this subject. “How could you say something like that?”</p><p>“Because I don’t like the woman, that is why,” Lord Grantham snapped. “Can we talk about something else?”</p><p>“I agree,” Branson grumbled from his end of the table. “Her memory is putting me off my food.”</p><p>Thomas rolled his eyes. If only he could take the soup from Branson and dowse it on his fat head.</p><p>Lady Grantham judged the temperature of the room and found it cold to her worries. She bowed her head, cowed and stung by their lack of acceptance and understanding. Sensing his wife was bitter, Lord Grantham tried for peace:</p><p>“…She will find her way,” Lord Grantham took a small sip of claret. “There are plenty of charities in London.”</p><p>And this was quite true, particularly after the great war.</p><p>“…Yes, but that’s just it,” Lady Grantham whispered, looking down at the table. “I want to help her if I can.”</p><p>“How?” Lord Grantham was wary, and Thomas didn’t blame him. Lady Grantham was technically in charge of who got hired on.</p><p><em>Don’t be silly, </em>Thomas thought. <em>She wouldn’t do that; she’d have to be downright insane. </em></p><p>“I don’t know…” She shrugged, unsure of how to continue without a solid plan. “Now that Anna is gone maybe we could have her come back-“</p><p>“No.” Lord Grantham shut it down before Lady Grantham could even finish her sentence. Thomas saw her flinch, and knew she’d been burned. “Absolutely not.”</p><p>Lady Grantham pursed her lips, furious at being denied a chance to even voice her mind. Sensing his wife was growing distant, Lord Grantham further said. “Cora, my word is final. No.”</p><p>Across the table from Thomas, Andy caught his eyes and held it.</p><p><em>What the hell are they going on about? </em>He seemed to be asking. Thomas just carefully shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>One thing was for certain, he could not handle Chris Webster and the topic of O’Brien on the same night. He’d have a mental breakdown by the end of it.</p><p> </p><p>With great relief, Lady Grantham did not push the subject of O’Brien again that night and no one else brought it up. When the family made to retreat to the drawing room, Thomas and Andy cleared away their dinner without complaint or fuss. Oh what a day… he could drop dead from the weight of it all.</p><p>He had to wonder, what did O’Brien look like after all these years? Was she uglier and gray headed? Or had all her hair fallen out?</p><p><em>Hope she’s bald, </em>Thomas thought bitterly.</p><p>“What were that all about, tonight?” Andy wondered, snatching up all the forks, spoons, and knives he could carry in one hand. “The woman Lady Grantham was talking about-“</p><p>“Bad blood,” Thomas grumbled, snuffing out a few more candles. “And lots of it.” He paused, catching Andy’s eye and holding it gently. “Don’t bring it up to the others, please?”</p><p>“Why not?” He asked.</p><p>“Cause the name Sarah O’Brien in this house is the name of the devil.”</p><p>Andy made a grotesque face, setting all his collected silverware on a tray for easy carrying and starting on the plates.</p><p>“Was she really that bad?” He wondered.</p><p>“You have no idea.”</p><p>“Worse than you?” Andy teased.</p><p>But Thomas paused, and did not answer.</p><p> </p><p>The way Andy said it, just so… easily. It made him very bitter indeed.</p><p>He supposed it was easy for the rest of the house to pass judgement. All they saw was him angry at Gwen or ugly to Branson. They didn’t see the years of pain beneath the insults, or the way that he’d been forced into isolation while everyone else skipped up the aisle arm in arm. Maybe it was because he’d had to visit Christopher today and witness the awfulness of York County Prison but Thomas wasn’t feeling generous towards Andy’s playful insults.</p><p>He knew nothing about Thomas’ situation.</p><p>“…Sorry I didn’t mean that to come out so rudely,” Andy mumbled. Perhaps he’d sensed he’d touched a raw nerve.</p><p>“…S’fine,” Thomas whispered, resuming his walk around the table. “Just keep it to yourself.”</p><p>And yet, Thomas noted that Andy looked like he wanted to say something. He straightened up, holding the man’s gaze. Andy chewed on his bottom lip, trying to keep a respectful tone but failing.</p><p>“You don’t like Branson do you?” He asked. “Or… that Gwen lady. Why not?”</p><p>There was nothing Thomas could say to defend his past actions, or explain why it pissed him off so much that others got to live a happy life and he was reduced to nothing. All he could do was put up a barrier, and hold it hard.</p><p>“… I don’t have to like anybody in this house,” He warned Andy. “Now please… get on.”</p><p>Cowed, Andy slipped through the servant’s door and vanished from sight.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>That night at dinner, Thomas did not smile nor engage in conversation. No one really noticed because Moseley was blathering on about some stupid child at the school getting a golden award for a pudding they’d made.</p><p>He didn’t care tuppence about puddings that night. Even with his soft spot for children, he didn’t have much to say.</p><p>“You look fit to worry the dog,” Mrs. Hughes murmured. “Did all go well in York?”</p><p>“As a matter of fact, no,” Thomas chewed on his toast for a minute before saying. “It all went rather… topside.”</p><p>“Oh?” She sat her knife down, cautious. “Anything you need to tell me?”</p><p>“Not yet,” He said. To be frank, he didn’t know if he’d tell her at all. What good would it do, to bring up the name O’Brien, or let her know that Christopher was apparently the devil?</p><p>“Well…” Mrs. Hughes resumed cutting her toast into tiny pieces to dip in her beans. “You certainly don’t have to tell me, but I think you should tell <em>him.” </em>And the way she said it left no room for questioning. She didn’t even know she was talking about Richard, but she did know that Thomas had someone special and that was all that mattered.</p><p>And maybe she had a point just this once.</p><p>“I could…” Thomas admitted, toying with this toast. He had a phone and the ability to ask for privacy. What was stopping him. “But I don’t want to bother him.”</p><p>“I hardly think they’ll imagine it a bother, after what you’ve told me,” She said with a smile.</p><p>Damn. She had him cornered.</p><p>He let an aggravated sigh, exhausted at being conned in his own game, and rose from the table. The others tried to follow suit, but he shut them down with a wave of his hand.</p><p>“Sit, sit,” he grumbled. “I’m just making a phone call.”</p><p>Mrs. Hughes looked far too smug for her own good.</p><p> </p><p>If ever there were a moment to run to Richard, it was tonight. Thomas barricaded himself in his office, and sat waiting on the telephone while his leg jiggled underneath the desk. He had so much to say but didn’t know how to say it. He needed to be comforted but he didn’t know how to ask. He needed to be told something… something… he couldn’t even find the words. He just needed to know he wasn’t alone, and Richard was the only person in the world he could talk to in that moment. His final hold out against the cruelty and callousness of the world.</p><p><em>“Hello?” </em>Richard’s voice was like warm honey running down the back of his throat, soothing the itch of the day.</p><p>“…Hi,” Thomas said. He wondered if the sorrow held in his voice.  </p><p><em>“Ah, I’ll close my eyes,” </em>Richard teased. Thomas did the same, so that the pair of them were now alone together in their darkness. Here they could remain until all was right in the world.</p><p>“I’ve got to talk to you,” Thomas said, “I don’t want to bother you-“</p><p><em>“You’re not the bothering type,” </em>Richard assured him. <em>“What’s up?” </em></p><p>“Two things,” Thomas, because if he was in for a penny he was in for a pound. “Do you remember the night you helped me out in York?”</p><p>
  <em>“Funnily enough, I do.” </em>
</p><p>“Right, well, the good fairy on the moonbeam didn’t come for my friend who had fun with me.”</p><p><em>“Aha,” </em>Richard was starting to sound smug too. <em>“So you were having fun in there were you? Fun without me.” </em></p><p>“Dancin’ nothing more,” Thomas grumbled. As if that truly constituted so much jealousy.</p><p>
  <em>“Dancin’ a tango, or so I heard.” </em>
</p><p>“Right, well, the other half did not get helped out. So… they’re… in the cold one, if you know what I mean.”</p><p>
  <em>“Breaking rocks?” </em>
</p><p>“Pretty much,” it was as good an assumption as any. “They wrote to me, asking me to visit them and so I did. I wanted to offer my apologies and sympathies but then… everything got… nuts.”</p><p>
  <em>“Christ if I have to come up to York again to help you twice-“ I</em>
</p><p>“No, no, I…” he trailed off. How to say what he needed to say? “They were talkin to me in a holding cell. And for whatever reason they said they would be seeing me soon. The police officer who was in charge got mad. And he acted odd. Both of them did. It got so tense and creepy I didn’t know what to make of it. The meeting got cut short, and I was taken outside. Well the same officer then tells me that he’s the devil incarnate, that he can pretty much guess what I am, and that if I’m smart I won’t come back to visit my friend again. That they’re evil.” Thomas sighed. “But… I don’t… I’m just…”</p><p>He didn’t know what to say, so he fell silent.</p><p><em>“Well, let’s be honest,” </em>Richard said after a careful moment of consideration. <em>“that’s not exactly an ideal situation for anyone to be in. It could have been a bluff, you know… jail house issues and all that. You could have just seen a snippet. A bit of a back and forth between people who already don’t like each other.” </em></p><p>“The way he was sayin’ it though…” Thomas could not shake the fear he’d seen in the officer’s eyes. “I’m telling you Richard, there was fear in his eyes. Honest to god, fear.”</p><p><em>“Look, they’re in a tough situation and they’re having to put up a front,” </em>Richard said. <em>“He’s probably been trying to hold up a bravado, you know. I mean… we are what we are, and we have a bit of a reputation for being weak, don’t we? Someone might be trying to pick on him, and he’s trying to act tougher than he really is.” </em></p><p>God, Thomas hoped that was true.</p><p>“And the ‘I’ll be seeing you soon’ bit?” he asked.</p><p><em>“Probably meant to piss off the officer,” </em>Richard said. <em>“A sort of side dig, like ‘you can’t hold me’.” </em></p><p>“…Yeah, I guess,” that might be it. Maybe the officer had just taken him at his word and really was worried. Maybe that other ruckus had already set his teeth on edge and he just snapped. After all, he was only human too. And his job wasn’t exactly a safe one. “Thanks. That makes me feel better, talking to you about it.”</p><p><em>“Well then,” </em>Richard was pleased with himself and it showed in his voice. <em>“Since I handled the first bit so well, tell me the second bit and I’ll see what I can do.” </em></p><p>But that was a whole other can of beans.</p><p>“Oh Richard…” Thomas let a hand fall over his face, rubbing at his weary eyes. “You can’t handle the second thing.”</p><p><em>“try me,” </em>he said. <em>“I have proper motivation.” </em></p><p>“And what’s that,” Thomas sniffed, slouching a bit in his chair.</p><p><em>“I left a pendant at Downton,” </em>Richard said. <em>“I’d like to find it again if I could. See it’s… real important to me. As a matter of fact, it’s the most special thing in the world. So, I’m not above coming up there to look for it myself.” </em></p><p>Thomas felt for it beneath his bib and found it warm against his chest. He squeezed it tightly till his fingers hurt.</p><p>“… An old co worker might be returning to the house, and if they do all hell will break loose,” Thomas said.</p><p><em>“Why?” </em>Richard asked.</p><p>“Because they are the devil incarnate, well and truly. I should know. And they bring out the worst in me.”</p><p>“<em>How so?” </em></p><p>“I did things in my youth that I’m not proud of,” He was afraid to reveal more lest Richard think the less of him for it. “Things that paint me in an ugly light. And if they come back, it’ll all come back to the surface again.”</p><p><em>“Look, we all do stupid things when we’re young</em>,” Richard said. <em>“There’s not a person on this earth who hasn’t made a mistake or acted snotty once in their life. And don’t forget, you’re the butler now. If they try to come back, you can use that against them and make their life miserable. Scare them into submission. Don’t be afraid to throw your weight around. You’re in charge, not them.”</em></p><p>Now that was the sort of language Thomas could understand and respect. It was part of the reason why he liked Richard so much; he understood what it meant to go low and play dirty. But O’Brien was a mastermind in misery. Could he outpace her in her own game, if she ever did reappear?</p><p>“… I wish you were here,” Thomas whispered. And he truly did.</p><p><em>“Your wishing won’t be in vain,” </em>Richard said. <em>“I’ve got a few things cooking.” </em></p><p>“Cooking?”</p><p>
  <em>“I’m thinking about leaving the king’s service.” </em>
</p><p>Thomas opened eyes, baffled by Richard’s admission.</p><p>“What? Why?” he demanded at once.</p><p><em>“Well, it’s complicated,” </em>and Thomas could almost hear him shrugging. <em>“Part of it’s running away, part of it’s running to.” </em></p><p>“What are you running away from?” Thomas asked, wondering if their little idiocies against Mr. Wilson had made trouble for Richard back home. “Is it something about what happened here in Downton?”</p><p><em>“HA! No.”</em> Richard laughed aloud. <em>“No, they’re completely clueless, the idiots. They have no idea about any of that. No…. I’m running away from the man I am.”</em></p><p>“The man you are?” He didn’t know what to make of that. The man Richard was, was very fine. Very fine, indeed.</p><p><em>“Like I said,”</em> Richard repeated. <em>“I’m runnin’ away from the man I am, and I’m running to the man I want to be.”</em></p><p>“I don’t understand,” Thomas admitted. He knew he ought to be better at the reading the signs when he was a man of mystery himself but… after years of being alone he just didn’t know how to communicate with other people anymore.</p><p><em>“It’s like I keep telling you,” </em>Richard said. <em>“I left something very important to me at Downton. I have to get it back.” </em></p><p>Thomas’ breath caught in his chest. For a moment, he was simply silent, drinking in the realization that Richard liked him so much he would leave employment with the King of fucking England to be with him. No one had ever liked him that much. It was the sort of insane whirlwind you might find in the back pages of a Jane Austen novel. It didn’t like reality held any space for men of their sort to dream or do wild things in the name of love.</p><p>And this? This was most certainly wild.</p><p>But before Thomas could tell Richard all that this mean to him, a weird noise in the background caught his attention. It sounded like a telephone ringing.</p><p><em>“Damn,” </em>Richard cursed. <em>“I have to go again, it’s that ruddy bell board.” </em></p><p>“It’s alright,” how could he not understand?</p><p><em>“Not really, but I’m going to make it alright,” </em>and it seemed like a promise Richard was intending on keeping. <em>“So don’t worry about that. Goodnight.” </em>And with that he hung up the phone.</p><p> </p><p>He’d been in need of a savior and had found it without asking. The burdens he usually felt when speaking to other people were gone when he spoke to Richard. The understood each other so well that when they talked they just… implicitly latched onto the other. They’d both been torn from the same cloth, ripped at the seams so that they fit no other save for their own pieces. Lain upon the floor of the universe, when you placed them side by side, you could see the tapestry of how awful the world was to people who were different. The stains on his soul were the colors of Richard’s threads. The sharp barbs on Richard’s teeth were the decorative tassels around Thomas’ edge. He did not know if they were lovers or twins. He did not know if they were anything at all, save for similar.</p><p>At that, he supposed, was as good a situation as he got in this awful world.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Ms. Baxter's Worst Nightmare</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A shocking turn of events makes Ms. Baxter realize her worst nightmare as a reality. In return, Thomas Barrow must step up to the role of defender. Mr. Moseley then gambles big, and gets an even bigger pay off.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>no warnings for this chapter</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The day that everything began to change, the sun rose cool and bright in the early winter sky.</p><p> </p><p>It was funny, you could look back at your life and not remember the tiny moments that linked everything together, but could somehow manage to recall the face of a stranger on the train right before everything turned on its head. Or maybe you could remember the pattern on the teacup you were holding when you got the telegram telling you your mother was dead. For Thomas, it wasn’t a teacup or a stranger. It was instead the methodical chopping wood by the hall boy Albert. That soft, gentle thumping. That methodical beat, which dissolved into the background when the door to his office was flung open by Mrs. Hughes.</p><p> </p><p>Breakfast was going to commence soon, and Thomas was going through his calendar to mark the arrivals of family members from afar. Lady Edith and Lord Hexam were coming from afar and arriving on December twentieth. That was about as far as Thomas got in regard to his tasks before his world came to a halt.</p><p> </p><p>In the doorway, Mrs. Hughes was pale and frightened. “Thomas, you have to come with me,” She said. He could sense the terror in her voice, the earnest panic.</p><p>“What’s going on?” He asked at once, shutting his planner and coming to her side.</p><p>“Have you seen the paper?” She asked.</p><p>“No,” He hadn’t managed to look at it yet, he’d been too busy working on his upcoming calendar for December.</p><p>“Right, well, that’ll explain why you’re not up in arms,” Mrs. Hughes was ruffled, speaking more to herself than him. “You’ll want to do that and promptly.”</p><p>“What’s going on?” He asked for the second time, “Has someone published an article about the family?” That sort of vulgar gossip seemed to be the only thing capable of making Mrs. Hughes shudder now adays.</p><p>“Not exactly,” She said. “His Lordship wants to speak with you.”</p><p>Thomas had only just come downstairs from dressing Lord Grantham. He couldn’t imagine what had transpired in the twenty minutes between their conversation to make him want to talk to Thomas again. What on earth had been in that paper? Thomas hadn’t even looked at it, he’d had far too much to do now that Bates was gone. Christ, of all the days to be lightheaded!</p><p>He left his office with Mrs. Hughes and walked briskly up the servant’s stairwell to the main floor. It seemed that Lord Grantham had taken shelter in the small library, which was his normal haunting spot in the afternoon hours. Usually, he went straight down to breakfast after being dressed. It was yet again another reminder that whatever had gone wrong, it was beyond the normal. What if it had something to do with the recent royal visit? Thomas suddenly worried that their antics against the royal staff had gotten into the papers. Oh, he’d never hear the end of it if that were the case!</p><p>Mrs. Hughes opened the small library door to reveal Lord Grantham by the fireplace. He had a hand against the stone and was staring into the flames deep in thought. Next to him, sitting an armchair, was Lady Grantham. She looked just as nervous as he. On her lap was the newspaper. </p><p>At the sound of the door opening, Lord Grantham looked up. “AH, Barrow,” He straightened up at once.</p><p>“M’lord, Mrs. Hughes says there’s something in the paper?” Thomas asked. “I haven’t seen it myself yet.”</p><p>Without another word, Lord Grantham gestured for the paper from his wife. She gave it over, and he then handed it to Thomas who took it to scan the front page.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t have to look far.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Mass Outbreak at York County Prison!</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Seven Police Officers Murdered in Cold Blood</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Terror and violence created an uproar in the early hours of the morning on November 21<sup>st</sup>. Near the early hours of Sunday morning, a shout of escapees inside cell block D of York County Prison was silenced by a gunshot, and then several more. Seven dangerous criminals broke free of their cells, by methods still unknown to police, armed with pistols, and proceeded to barrel their way through the main corridor of their cell block before breaking out into the courtyard. Here, a gun fight commenced, with several brave officers slain in their line of duty. One officer to escape the assault was Sergeant Thomas Moreland, and is quoted below:</p><p>“I was going about my nightly duties when I was alerted by the sounds of the door to the holding cells being opened with great force. I called for my fellow officers to assist, but we were wholly unprepared for the weapons that the fiends had taken up. Three of my officers were shot in front of me before we could even cross the courtyard, and I ordered the other eight to barricade themselves in the mess before running to sound the alarm. By this time, the men had managed to scale the walls with ropes made from torn bedsheets and linens. It happened in a matter of minutes, with the gunfire killing seven men before the criminals made their escape over the western wall. I lead a squad of men around the perimeter of the prison but found that the assailants had already escaped beyond our borders. By this time, Chief Constable Robert Boye was already on scene, and Newby Wiske Hall had been informed of the event.”</p><p>Officers slain in the line of duty include the following with noted achievements and illustrious careers in pursuit of justice: Constable Norman Garnham, Constable Iain Haigh, Constable Thomas Winter, Constable Charles William Sheppard, Sergeant Samuel MacLean, Constable Matthew Straughn, and Constable William Gutteridge. This comes as a severe blow to the York Police Department, who look upon one another as brothers in arms. A period of mourning and terror has swept over the ancient city, with the whereabouts of the criminals still unknown as of this time. However, details from the night are beginning to emerge which makes the path of destruction clearer.</p><p>Detective Inspector Duncan Alexander Frazier has been tasked with the enormous effort of rounding up the violent criminals and has revealed to the public facts which help to paint the scene. He is quoted below, having given a statement to both the press and public:</p><p>“During this dangerous time, it is vital that everyone be aware of developments as they occur. I can now reveal to you the names of the convicts that escaped and their charges. The convicts include Anthony Arkwright, Gordon Cummins, John “King of Heeley” Dover, John Steward Lowden, Christopher Vincent Webster, Donald “Black Panther” Neilson, and the notorious Peter William Coyle.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>For a moment, Thomas could do little but stare at the names over and over again, his brain desperately trying to process what his eyes were seeing. As if caught in a slow tape, he replayed the last moment that he’d seen Christopher over in his mind. How he’d been so at ease, so sure of his own future even when locked up in prison. How the guard had been so terrified of Christopher, even if he’d tried to hide it.</p><p>The way that Christopher had snapped his fingers.</p><p>But the article went on, listing each criminal in-depth with their description and charge. Both captivated and horrified, Thomas could not stop reading. It was like watching a train wreck and being unable to look away.</p>
<hr/><p>Anthony Arkwright aged 21, is a tall and thin man with a shaven head and blue eyes. He murdered three people with a 14-pound hammer in Wath-upon-Dearne, South Yorkshire over a series of 56 hours, and is believed to have killed a fourth. He is missing both his front teeth from a blow to the mouth.</p><p>Gordon Cummins aged 28, is a man of medium build with black hair parted at the side and dark eyes from New Earswick, North Yorkshire. He is convicted of sexual sadism, robbery, and murder, and is known to cut the electricity from his victims’ homes before killing them. He has so far killed six people and is thought to be extremely dangerous. Members of the public are warned to be on guard for any sudden shifts in the electrical currents of their homes as this could be a sign of Cummins’ presence.</p><p>John Dover aged 34 is a former footman for Lord Thomas Skinner, who he murdered with arsenic, and is associated with several Yorkshire gangs. He is nicknamed the King of Heeley for his standard of dress and is from the Sheffield area.  Dover is known to have a scar on the left side of his mouth from a prison knifing incident which can be used to succinctly identify him. While less dangerous than the others, he is still to be avoided by any member of the public who sees him.</p><p>John Stewart Lowden is a short portly man with thinning brown hair and is thought to be in his 50’s. He was a stamp dealer who was arrested on several cases of stamp forgery which lead to multiple charges of gang activity including the plotted murder of a London sergeant. He may attempt to hold up post offices in the Yorkshire area.</p><p>Christopher Vincent Webster, 42, is nicknamed “The Killer” and is most notable for his involvement in organized crime. He made his name running Canadian whiskey into America due to Prohibition. He is wanted in connection with the killings of five men, each having gang connections to the other, along with crime of sodomy. He is tall, thin, and has a well-defined pencil mustache.  He is an invert and thought to be mentally unstable.</p><p>
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<hr/><p>And there, as if to damn Thomas, was an image of Christopher the night of his arrest. It was just as Thomas remembered, with Christopher rumbled and frantic from their escapades.</p><p> Thomas wondered if his own mugshot was up for viewing at the very same station; god it terrified him to think it might one day make its way into the hands of the paper!</p><p>But there was more still to read. Fearing his name might be mentioned, Thomas hurriedly continued on.</p>
<hr/><p>Donald “Black Panther” Neilson was arrested murdering three men in a chain of sub-post offices, along with the kidnapping of Lady Lesley Whittle. He is in his mid-forties, is a well-defined muscled man, with a bald head and a thick brown mustache.</p><p>The most dangerous of all these convicts, however, is undoubtedly Peter William Coyle, who is believed to have killed 13 women and attempted the murder of seven others. All except two of his murders took place in West Yorkshire, while the other two were in Manchester. Coyle is in his forties and is a well dressed man with black hair and blue eyes. He is known to have an extremely violent temper and is armed; any man or woman who believes they may have seen him is ordered not to approach him but to instead telephone the police. Coyle is the head of the Red Brigade, a gang that has spread through the entirety of Yorkshire as is now making its way southwards. He was diagnosed two months ago with paranoid schizophrenia and is criminally insane. He was recently imprisoned after being successfully identified by a former accomplice and victim Phyllis Baxter <em>, </em>who had previously served her own sentence for the crime of theft<em>.</em> It is this which is suspected to motivate Coyle, and it is believed that he is moving in the direction of Grantham county.</p><p>
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<hr/><p>And there, right beneath the damning evidence, was the mugshot of a calm and handsome man. So placid and genial was his expression, he might have been taking a professional photograph instead of going to his cell. He certainly did not look like the kind of man to murder 13 women or be diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia.</p><p>But Thomas could not focus on the image of Peter Coyle, though his curiosity was burning to know more. Instead, his eyes drifted back towards the name of his closest friend, branded in black and white for all the world to see. <em>Former accomplice and victim Phyllis Baxter , who had previously served her own sentence for the crime of theft</em></p><p> </p><p>It was her worst fear come to life. She’d been outed by the papers.</p><p> </p><p>“…Oh god,” Thomas whispered, a hand absently drifting to cover his mouth. He looked around at Mrs. Hughes, who was ashen faced and grim. He looked back at Lord Grantham who was just as stony.</p><p>Lord Grantham was speaking to him, but Thomas could not focus on his voice. Instead, his eyes were drawn back to the paper and the name ‘Phyllis Baxter’. He touched the offending ink, his fingertips trailing up to the picture of Christopher, jumbled in with all the other mugshots of the escaped men.</p><p>Someone touched his arm. Thomas jumped, jerking away from the offense to find Mrs. Hughes sheepish and Lord Grantham annoyed.</p><p>“I’m sorry, M’lord I was…” But Thomas didn’t even know what he ‘was’, so he simply stopped talking.</p><p>“I asked you if you were aware of this?” Lord Grantham repeated, irritated at a servant not obeying him. Thomas bristled, glancing at Lady Grantham who had her head bowed and was refusing to look at him. Of course, she’d already known about Baxter’s past.</p><p>“Yes,” Thomas finally said. “I was aware.”</p><p>“And why was I not informed?” Lord Grantham asked. Whatever answer Thomas gave, he knew it would not be enough.</p><p>“I thought she deserved a second chance, M’lord,” Thomas finally said. Lord Grantham’s nostrils flared.</p><p>“And now an escaped murderer is making a beeline for my house,” he sneered. “What a fine butler you’re shaping up to be.”</p><p>Thomas tried not to be stung by that, but it was difficult. Little did Lord Grantham know there was much more at stake than Baxter and Coyle.</p><p>“Robert I’ve already told you,” Lady Grantham warned. “I knew about this, and I was fine with it. Barrow didn’t tell you because he’s friends with Baxter. That’s all there is to be said.”</p><p>“Is there indeed?” Lord Grantham certainly wasn’t sure. He reached for the paper but Thomas held back, shuffling the pages to keep the sheaf with Christopher’s photograph on it. Lord Grantham was so annoyed with the other occurrences that he didn’t seem to realize he’d only gotten back part of his newspaper. He was too busy pacing the floor.</p><p>“So what are we to do now?” Lord Grantham demanded, looking both to his wife and his staff. “Lock the doors and hide in the cellar?”</p><p>“I don’t know, M’lord,” Thomas said, and it was very much the truth. He honestly couldn’t give half a rat’s arse for the Crawley’s at this moment. He was much too preoccupied with the intent of speaking to Baxter as soon as humanely possible. “Forgive me but I must speak with Ms. Baxter straight away. She needs to be informed of this news.”</p><p>“I agree,” Lady Grantham said. Lord Grantham looked stung.</p><p>“I’ll need the paper M’lord,” Thomas said, and took the whole thing from his master again. “She’ll need to read it.”</p><p>“Have you nothing to say to me in regard to a plan?” He wondered.</p><p>“I’m not the police M’lord,” Thomas said, confused as to why he was suddenly in charge of the security of the abbey. “I should think we need to speak with Sergeant Willas if you wish to have more security for the abbey. If you’ll excuse me.”</p><p>Lord Grantham was dismayed, and as Thomas left the room he heard the man wonder: <em>“What would I give to have Carson back. He wouldn’t let things go to shambles.” </em></p><p>
  <em>“Robert, enough. I told you this has nothing to do with Barrow.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“But he doesn’t even have an answer!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“And you do?” </em>
</p><p>But Thomas wasn’t listening anymore. Instead, he was mounting the main stairs to the gallery floor, mindless of the breech in decorum that it represented. Lady Grantham had just been dressed, and normally she’d still be having breakfast in bed. This meant that Baxter was probably in the main bedchamber, either collecting linens or sorting Lady Grantham’s toilet. He knocked and entered, only to find no one was there. Irritated, Thomas crossed the bedroom to the bathroom just to check, and sure enough found Baxter perched on the rim of the porcelain tub, folding up used towels upon her lap. She was surprised to see Thomas, and smiled.</p><p>“Hello,” she greeted him. “What are you doing up here?”</p><p>Thomas carefully shut the door.</p><p>“… Have you read the paper today?” Thomas murmured. Baxter shook her head.</p><p>“No. Why?”</p><p>Knowing that he was very well handing her over her worst fears, Thomas shamefully did so. Perturbed, Baxter set the towels down on the side of the tub and took the paper with both hands only to gape like a fish out of water at the main headline.</p><p>The more she read, the more horrified her expression grew. By the time that she’d reached the second page, her complexion was whiter than the towels she’d been tasked with folding. As her gaze stopped at Coyle’s photograph and her name, she let go of the paper like it were a snake that might bite her. She leapt up from the rim of the tub, breathing audibly in shaky wheezes. She was panicking, and how could he blame her? He tried to imagine what he might feel like if his worst sins were spilt publicly in the paper, and imagined he might be keen to try and kill himself again.</p><p>She fled the bathroom. He ran after her.</p><p>It was difficult to say where she was going. Like a panicked animal, she seemed to be trying to flee to a source of safety, but such a place didn’t exist anymore. There was no town in Yorkshire that wouldn’t know her name, and she didn’t have money to run to a place like India or America. Her once respite had become a cage, and locked inside it her demons now had her backed up against the corner to hound her without mercy.</p><p>Thomas knew what it felt like to be ganged up on like that. She’d always remarked at his strength, always praised him for being able to hold his own in the face of public ridicule. It seemed that today he would have to earn  his bread and butter to keep her afloat.</p><p>They hit the bottom of the servant’s stair well, with Baxter making a bee line for the area door. While Thomas would normally let her go, now there was the danger of a murderer being on the other side of the threshold. York wasn’t too far away, and god only knows where Coyle had gotten to in a days time. He could easily be just inside the woods that surrounded Downton Abbey, waiting to strike if Baxter strayed too far. He could not allow it to happen.</p><p>He reached out with a sharp hand and managed to grab her by the elbow just before she reached the door. They nearly fell over in the struggle, with Thomas holding her tight from behind while she tried in vain to break away.</p><p>“Let me go!” She begged.</p><p>“Stop!” Thomas commanded, forcing her back against the wall so that he could grab her tightly by the upper arms. He was well aware that they had an audience, though he did not turn his head to look. There were whispering voices just out of earshot, the presence of shadows on the far wall. “Stop and think.”</p><p>Baxter was plum terrified, her brown eyes reduced to pin pricks and a pale hazy sweat upon her pallid brow. In that moment, Thomas seemed to be the only thing holding her to the earth, like a child desperately keeping a kite from sailing away in a vicious storm blown off the coast.</p><p>“Stop and think,” He repeated this time more calm than before. “We don’t know where he is. He could be right outside that door.”</p><p>They both looked to the door, with Baxter suddenly seeming to realize what protection it offered him.</p><p>“Until we know where he is, until we have some kind of clue as to what he’s up to, you’re not safe out there.” He said. “So you have to stay in here.”</p><p>“Everyone will know,” she whispered. “My life is ov-“</p><p>“No it’s not,” He wouldn’t even let her finish that sentence. “You’re innocent in this, Ms. Baxter. You’re a victim as good as any of the other women he killed. You’re lucky to have survived him the first time, I fully intend on keeping you alive the second time.”</p><p>“…Mr. Moseley,” Her voice warbled. “I need to speak to him.”</p><p>“Then I’ll call the schoolhouse and tell him to come up,” Thomas said. “He’s got feet same as you, he can walk up here just as well as you can walk down there.”</p><p>“He’ll be in danger!” Baxter said. The idea seemed to inspire her to a new level of panic. “Don’t you understand, I can’t let him be seen-“</p><p>“Ms. Baxter-“ She tried to jerk away a second time, only for Thomas to hold her firmly against the wall. In an effort to mentally reached her, he used her Christian  name. “Phyllis!”</p><p>She stared at him, shocked. For as much as she might call him Thomas, he never called her Phyllis.</p><p>“He doesn’t know who Mr. Moseley is,” Thomas reminded her. “He has no idea that you two are courting. If anyone is in danger, it’s you. So let’s get him up here while it’s still daylight and keep him here tonight until we hear from the police. Yes?”</p><p>“I-“ She was unsure, shaky, terrified to trust.</p><p>“Yes?” He pressured her, knowing that his way was smarter. Unable to put up a fight mentally, she caved.</p><p>“Yes,” She repeated, weak.</p><p>Thomas looked around to find a throng of servants clustered around the opening to the hall. In Mrs. Patmore’s hands was yet another copy of the newspaper. The looks of disgust upon their normally friendly faces left little to be translated. Eager to keep his only friend from harm, Thomas leaned over, opened the door to his office, and pushed Baxter inside.</p><p>“In,” He commanded, shutting the door quickly behind him so that they were garnered some type of privacy. Unable to keep standing, she collapsed into his guest chair. She looked like she might be sick at any moment and frankly he did not blame her.</p><p>He used his desk telephone to place a call to the schoolhouse. A simple phrase of “Ms. Baxter has had an emergency, please come with haste,” Was all that Thomas had to say to the receptionist to ensure that Moseley’s answer would be swift and strong.</p><p>“I can’t stay here,” Baxter croaked. “Did you see their faces?”</p><p>“I’m blessed to see them every day,” Thomas sneered. “Ignore them, they’re petty people-“</p><p>“They’re my friends.”</p><p>“No they’re not,” Thomas sat across from her, casting her a warning glance. “Best stop imagining them as friendly now. Don’t give them your trust until they’ve earned it.” This seemed to make Baxter feel even more depressed, and she sank into a silence that Thomas could not rouse her from.</p><p>Fortunately, the tension was cut by a sharp knock on the door, followed by the entrance of Mrs. Hughes who was less than enthused.</p><p>“Good, there you are-“ she shut the door at once. “I knew you’d be in here.” It was difficult to know who she was talking to. “Now will somebody please kindly inform me what is going on? Because I can’t the maids to do any of their work!” As if maids shucking their work were the largest problem right now.</p><p>Baxter put her head in her hands, unable to face the world.</p><p>“… Broke out of prison,” Thomas murmured, catching Mrs. Hughes’ eyes. “Probably heading here to try and get revenge. God only knows where he is right now, but I think we can guess what he’s after.”</p><p>“And…” Mrs. Hughes was trying to figure out the rest but it was difficult, “And you know this man? This Peter Coyle? Isn’t this the man who you helped arrest?”</p><p>She nodded, bleak and broken.</p><p>“Well…” Mrs. Hughes sighed, twisting her fingers. “We’ll just have to work with the police and keep our guard up. That’s all.”</p><p>“I’ve got Moseley coming up,” Thomas said. “He’s on his way.”</p><p>“Good, good,” Mrs. Hughes was glad to hear it. She walked behind his guest chair and placed a hand carefully upon Baxter’s shoulder. “See? We’re finding solutions already.”</p><p>“The others,” Baxter whispered with a croak. It was less of a sentence and more of an understanding.</p><p>“Mr. Barrow and I will handle the others,” Mrs. Hughes assured her.</p><p>“Mrs. Hughes will handle Mrs. Patmore. I’ll take care of the rest,” Thomas corrected. He looked forward with glee to the ear chewing he would be able to throw out, but knew he’d be an idiot to try and tackle the cook.</p><p> </p><p>The door jerked open to reveal Moseley, who was gasping for air and sweating profusely at the neck and temples.</p><p>He staggered over to Baxter, only to crumple to one knee as he tried to breath.</p><p>“Mr. Moseley,” She didn’t seem to know what to say.</p><p>“Christ, breathe man.” Thomas complained. “Did you run all the way up here?”</p><p>Moseley could not answer. Instead he just nodded emphatically and kept sucking in air.</p><p>“Oh, honestly,” Mrs. Hughes had had just about enough of the day’s insanities. “I’ll get you a glass of water,” she left, shutting the door behind her. For a moment, the only thing that could be heard was Moseley sucking in air. By the time that he’d managed to catch his breath, Mrs. Hughes was back, glass of water in hand, and Thomas was beginning to contemplate the possibility of committing suicide again.</p><p>This was the most aggravating day of his life.</p><p>“What’s happened,” Moseley managed to gasp out, still on one knee in front of Baxter. “What’s happened- I came straight here-“</p><p>Silently, Thomas handed over the paper for Moseley to take. He did so with shaky hands, and for a moment simply stared at the pages like he could not fathom the contents to be true. When he finally looked up, it was to three expectant faces.</p><p>“Blimey,” He managed to croak out. He stood up, now back to normal with a regular heartrate, and handed the newspaper cautiously back to Thomas. “Where is he now?”</p><p>“Nobody knows,” Thomas said, and this was the real danger of the matter. “He could be outside; he could be in Suffolk. I couldn’t tell you. See anyone odd when you came up?”</p><p>Queerly enough, Moseley didn’t take offense and instead shook his head. “No,” He admitted. “All’s normal in the village. Can’t imagine an hour from here it’s pandemonium.”</p><p>“Give it time,” Thomas sneered.</p><p> </p><p>“Look, I hate to butt in,” Mrs. Hughes was still wringing her hands. “But what are we going to do about the staff? They’ve read the papers, they’re demanding answers, they’re refusing to do work!”</p><p>“Refusing to do work?” Thomas repeated, agog. “What do they think this is, a democracy?”</p><p>“Well we have to do something, I’m on the verge of calling Mr. Carson!” Mrs. Hughes said.</p><p>“You will not!” Thomas thundered; she’d unknowingly pressed on a sore button. “I’m more than capable of doing my job, thank you Mrs. Hughes.”</p><p>“Then for heavens sake, do it!” She beseeched. “Before the maids start a revolution and recruit Daisy!”</p><p>Sensing that he was about to walk right into the line of fire, Thomas jerked up from his desk and straightened the bottom of his jacket before pulling out a small comb from his desk drawer and using it to better part his gelled hair. He sniffed twice, tugged at his bowtie, and flapped his hands at his sides.</p><p>“Right,” He said. “I’m off.”</p><p>“Oh-“ Now Mrs. Hughes was the one looking panicky. “Oh, Thomas, don’t be harsh!”</p><p>But he wasn’t listening. Instead, he was leaving his office and making a bee line for the servants hall where sure the maids were clustered like a bunch of nervous hens. When they saw him, they drew closer together, perhaps sensing strength in numbers was their best bet for a fair fight.</p><p>Behind him, Thomas heard Mrs. Hughes approach with Mr. Moseley and Ms. Baxter. Upon seeing her, one maid name Rose let out an ugly noise underneath her breath.</p><p>“Mrs. Hughes fetch the kitchen staff,” Thomas ordered. “I want everyone in attendance.”</p><p>“Yes Mr. Barrow,” She left without another word.</p><p>Rose leaned into another housemaid and whispered something in her ear. Thomas’ temper popped.</p><p>“there will be silence when I ask for it!” He barked. Shocked, Rose fell silent at once and the other maid did not make to answer her. </p><p>In came the kitchen staff, following dutifully after Mrs. Hughes. Mrs. Patmore, Daisy, and the three kitchen maids all clustered around the table. Mrs. Hughes then gestured towards the back hall, and up came Andy and Albert. Now the whole group of them were around the table in what would be a normally quiet hour. More whispers were beginning to pop up again.</p><p>“Silence!” Thomas barked. The quiet that fell was unnatural, with even Mrs. Patmore looking disturbed. She cast a glance of questioning to Mrs. Hughes, but found no ally in her companion. Unnerved, she put a hand to her breast and played fretfully with her apron tie.</p><p>He looked from one side of the room where the maids were sweating to the other side where Andy and Albert were waiting with baited breath.</p><p>As he spoke, he did so with unnerving calm, in a manner he had not used since 1925 when all the world was his enemy.</p><p>“I am aware of the events that have transpired at York County Prison, and their impact upon this house,” Thomas began. “I am aware of what was said in the paper, and I am aware of why it was said. And I should like to make it incredibly clear here that Ms. Baxter is not a criminal for having known a criminal, just as Mrs. Bates is not a murderer for having her husband being framed for murder. Or are we so content to put them on a pedestal only to ignore the others?”</p><p>“But that’s not the same-“ Rose cut across.</p><p>“SILENCE!” Thomas bellowed. Rose jumped, the blood fleeing from her heart shaped face.</p><p>“As of this moment, you will only listen,” Thomas ground out. The others stared, in complicit and obeying silence. “I am the butler of this house, and my word is law. Is this correct, Mrs. Hughes?”</p><p>“It is indeed, Mr. Barrow,” Was it his imagination or did she sound slightly smug?</p><p>“You will do well to remember that Rose, unless you would like your notice,” Thomas warned. “As a matter of fact, anyone in this house from Mrs. Patmore to Albert would do well to remember that. Because the only thing keeping you employed is me!” And his voice became harder and uglier with each word his spoke.</p><p>Daisy was grimacing, hiding a little behind Andy’s tall and awkward frame. She knew what it meant when he got into a temper.</p><p>After a moment, Thomas began again, this time with a cold and calculated voice.</p><p>“Ms. Baxter knew Peter Coyle before his offenses and is lucky to have escaped with her life,” Thomas said. “Coyle framed her for a crime she did not commit-“ that was a lie but he’d roll with it, “And she was forced to endure prison for five times longer than either of the Bates did. There was no simpering sentimentalities from the household where she was employed, when she was imprisoned no one welcomed her home with open arms and a hot meal like both of the Bates were blessed to receive. She did not get out of prison because some saintly wife pilfered through another person’s diary. She got out on good behavior because she is a kind and understanding person who despite being in the worst circumstance imaginable still managed to be a decent and compassionate human being!”</p><p>And now a true silence had fallen, with the others slightly ashamed.</p><p>Good. He wanted them to squirm like the worms that they were.</p><p>“Yes, I knew about this long ago.” Thomas continued on. “And yes, I am the reason Ms. Baxter got her job here. A bit like how Mr. Bates got his job here because Lord Grantham liked him. And I will not have my friend harassed because of your fear mongering, gossiping and whining!” he looked from Rose to Daisy as he spoke. Both were humiliated and it showed upon their faces. “Ms. Baxter is a privileged member of this staff, who raises the moral fiber of this house by being a part of it. She is on the same platform as the Bates, and I will not have her be disrespected just because she was so unlucky enough to care for someone who was vile and vicious and cruel! As of this moment, that topic is no longer available for discussion in this house or in any house that I make my presence known in! And anyone who disagrees will be made to leave without notice and without character. Do I make myself clear?”</p><p>But no one answered. They were too scared now, each with pursed lips.</p><p>“I said do I make myself clear, I expect an answer!”</p><p>“Yes Mr. Barrow,” They whispered, save for Rose.</p><p>So Thomas zeroed in on her with all the ferocity of a lion about to maul a gazelle.</p><p>He walked around the table, pushing past the crowd till he was right upon Rose who shrank back a bit into the other maids.</p><p>“I did not see you answer me, Rose,” Thomas growled. “Are you trying to tempt me to humor? Because if so you are failing.”</p><p>“… She’s a criminal,” Rose spoke in a warbled voice. With trembling hands, she gestured to a newspaper upon the table. “How do you know she didn’t help break him out of prison-“</p><p>“Look deep into my eyes, Rose,” Thomas ordered. Wilting, Rose looked ready to burst into tears at any moment. “Recognize that the only reason you are still employed is because the word ‘leave’ has not exited my mouth. Do you realize how dangerous that is Rose? To tempt me on a subject that I have made explicitly clear? Would you do this with Mr. Carson, Rose? Because something tells me you wouldn’t.”</p><p>She seemed to realize she’d made a mistake but had gone too far to back out.</p><p>“I only mean she’s dangerous.”</p><p>“She is not the one who murdered 13 women, Rose,” Thomas reminded her. “She is the woman who loved the man who murdered 13 women, and by the grace of god alone did not become 14. Do you realize that?”</p><p>Shamed, Rose bowed her head.</p><p>“Shame on you,” Thomas decided to go for the moral high ground, quite liking the view despite the frigid temperature from his colleagues, “For daring to emotionally sabotage someone who has already suffered so much.”</p><p>He then turned to look at the others, now from the opposite corner of the room. He could now clearly see that Baxter was in tears, with her only comfort coming from the arms of Moseley who held her tightly without even a concern for the lack of decorum.</p><p>Mrs. Hughes, in front of them, was unaware of their public display.</p><p> “Until we know more, we act with calm and clarity,” Thomas said, and as he spoke he mentally forced himself to have a gentler edge to try and bring down the tension. “No more going out at night, no traveling in solo groups. Daisy,” she perked up at the mention of her name. “From now on Mr. Mason is to take you by wagonette to and from work, is that clear?”</p><p>“Yes Mr. Barrow,” She whispered.</p><p>“Helen, Margret, Jane… Rose,” Thomas looked to his four housemaids, each of whom were still nervous. “You’re to walk in a group with a constable from now on. I will arrange it.”</p><p>“Yes, Mr. Barrow,” The spoke unevenly, with Rose still too humiliated to find her voice.</p><p>“Mrs. Hughes-“</p><p>“Yes Mr. Barrow,” she was one of the very few acting normally, and was perhaps relieved to find that he’d restored order from the near anarchy of the morning.</p><p>“From now on, Mr. Moseley is to stay with us at night, as are you, for your own safety,” Thomas said. “I will arrange for the same constable that walks the maids up to the house in the mornings to likewise walk Mr. Moseley to the schoolhouse.”</p><p>“Thank you Mr. Barrow, that’s very kind of you,” He said.</p><p>“… Ms. Baxter,” Thomas addressed her last. Perhaps sensing doom, she did not reply. Moseley squeezed her comfortingly upon the shoulders.</p><p>“You are officially underneath my protection now,” Thomas said. “You do not leave this house without me. You do not do anything without myself, Mr. Moseley, or a policeman present. Is that clear? You are the one in the most danger here.”</p><p>She nodded, but did not speak. Thomas had a feeling she was too broken to find her voice in the moment. He would not press her.</p><p>“Good,” Thomas let out a sigh, rolling his neck so that two vertebra popped from the tension. He finally closed, his tone and his actions back to a normal sway, “With luck this situation will resolve itself,” he said. “But I will have my staff prepared for anything. Now… does anyone have any questions, bearing in mind all that I have said so far?”</p><p>“… Does he know where Ms. Baxter works?” Daisy asked.</p><p>It was a fair question. “I don’t know,” Thomas said. “But until I hear otherwise, I’m going to assume yes and I suggest all of you do the same. We’re dealing with a man who is completely out of his mind. Logic is not your friend. Now, it seems to we are in the middle of the day and no one is working. Why is that?”</p><p>The others muttered excuses, but no one would meet him in the eye.</p><p>“… Then let’s remedy it. Quickly.” Thomas said. At once, the group broke off into different directions, with Mrs. Patmore returning to the kitchen and the maids heading up the stairs. Thomas was left alone in the servants hall along with Baxter, Moseley, and Mrs. Hughes.</p><p> </p><p>“… That was better than sex,” Thomas mused. “Excuse me.” He stepped around the cluster of them and headed outside to smoke a cigarette. He was in a celebratory mood.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>For the rest of the day, Thomas hid outside and examined the newspaper article more in depth. He could not help but stare at Christopher’s picture more than Coyle’s, and wonder at what the newspaper said.</p><p>So his middle name was Vincent, that was slightly funny though Thomas couldn’t say why. The fact that he was nicknamed “The Killer” was utterly absurd. Chris couldn’t kill anyone and was probably innocent of those other five deaths. Running Canadian whiskey into America was something so bizarre and yet fantastical that it seemed to fit the man somehow. Thomas suddenly had images of Christopher hiding in the back of a train car with crates full of whiskey that were marked as ‘corn’ or ‘potatoes’. But he did have to wonder, who were the other five men that Chris supposedly had killed, and why was he wanted in connection? He’d said he’d been in prison before when Thomas had visited him. Was that why? Had he broken out again? Or had he just been imprisoned for the whiskey running?</p><p>Thomas knew it ought to be disconcerting. That he ought to be horrified that a man who lusted after him was a criminal. But it was actually rather delightful. Thomas didn’t give a fig about laws or upholding order. As far as he was concerned, society was already being run by criminals they just so happened to wear uniforms and badges.</p><p>He blew out a long thin line of smoke; it was his fifth cigarette that day. He was starting to get a bit of a buzz from it.</p><p>And Coyle… what to do about Coyle.</p><p>Killing 13 women and nearly murdering 7 others was a crime so fucking awful that Thomas couldn’t wrap his head around it. It was one thing to go to jail for running whiskey, it was another to be a mass murderer. And what was this insanity about a Red Brigade? Thomas had never heard of such things! He’d likewise never met anyone in his life who was a paranoid schizophrenic; was he a foaming lunatic?</p><p>But he couldn’t be, not if Baxter had been his friend. Surely if she’d noticed that something was mentally off, she’d have stayed away.</p><p><em>But he made her steal and act nasty, </em>Thomas mused. <em>So maybe she was too wrapped up in it to notice. </em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The sound of the backdoor opening made Thomas grimace, and he ducked out of the way to hide in the side foliage which concealed a secondary shed where chopped wood was kept. He didn’t want to deal with people right now, particularly the maids who were still sulking over him shouting at them. Frankly, the little bastards were still lucky to have jobs!</p><p>Hiding against the brick wall, Thomas took another drag of his cigarette. He heard footfalls, a door closing and the sound of someone sitting with a slight sigh.</p><p> </p><p>“I thought I saw Mr. Barrow come this way,” Mr. Moseley said.</p><p>“He’d be out here smoking if he was,” Baxter said. “He’s probably gone for a walk to cool off.”</p><p>Curious, Thomas bent over a bit and peeked around the edge to see Moseley and Baxter now sitting at the area workbench where before he’d been relaxing. He couldn’t blame them for seeking refuge, it was probably still noxious inside the house. It would be a while before things returned to normal.</p><p>“That was one hell of a speech,” Moseley scoffed. “Did you see the maid’s faces? Rose is lucky to have employment.”</p><p>“She’s lucky to have a face,” Baxter muttered. “Thomas can draw blood when he gets going.”</p><p>A silence fell, as Baxter and Moseley relaxed at the area work bench. Baxter let out an enormous sigh, and Moseley fiddled with his fingers.</p><p>“So…” He mumbled. “Coyle.”</p><p>“Coyle,” Baxter repeated in agreement.</p><p>Moseley ran a hand through his thinning black hair. “Funny seeing his picture. He’s rather dashing.”</p><p>And Thomas had to admit, Moseley had a point. Coyle was particularly good looking if his picture was anything to go by. It wasn’t a surprise if Moseley was jealous. He was hardly a looker.</p><p>“I’m sure Lucifer is too,” Baxter said nastily.</p><p>“… Can’t believe he killed 13 women,” Moseley said. “That’s a crime so horrific I can hardly wrap my head around it.”</p><p>“Even if he hadn’t, he’d still be nothing compared to you,” Baxter said. Moseley flushed, impressed by her praise.</p><p>“I never asked you but…” Moseley shifted cautiously upon his chair, “In the passing days, after the things we’ve revealed to each other… the way we’ve shared our souls, I have to know. Did you love him?”</p><p>Hiding in the foliage, Thomas felt like a particularly peevish younger brother sneaking on his older sister. This was positively awful, but far too much fun to resist.</p><p>“I did,” she said, and there was no shame in her voice. “A long time ago. I don’t love easily, and when I do it’s not always to the nicest of men.”</p><p>“Well that explains Mr. Barrow,” Moseley tried for a joke. Baxter did not appreciate it.</p><p>“No,” She would not even contemplate the idea of them being put into the same bowl. “Do not compare Thomas to Coyle just because you two aren’t bosom friends. Coyle is evil on a level that denies humanity. Thomas is just…” But at this, Baxter broke off. Thomas was stung. What exactly was he that was so difficult to define?</p><p>“Difficult,” Baxter finally finished. Moseley was humbled.</p><p>“I shouldn’t have said it,” Moseley agreed. “I meant it as a joke but I suppose it fell rather flat. Makes me grateful though, to think that we don’t have it near as bad with Barrow as we could have. I suppose it’s easy to become annoyed with him when you compare him to the others but really he isn’t so terrible. He has a heart.”</p><p>“Yes he does,” Baxter said. “Coyle does not.”</p><p>For a moment there was silence. Baxter bowed her head, and Thomas was pained to see that her lips were quirking as if she was keeping from crying.</p><p>“I wish to <em>god </em>I could change that part of my life,” She mumbled. “So many years wasted on a man who defied the existence of good and humanity on this earth. I’d chop off my own hand if I thought it would do any good.”</p><p>“Well I think you have changed it,” Moseley tried for a defense, and reached out with loving hands to hold Baxter around the waist as they sat side by side. “By coming here… by being with me.”</p><p>And there was something in the way he said ‘with me’. Like his very existence hung on her answer agreeing to it. So captivated was Thomas by the conversation that his cigarette burned him at the fingers from where the cherry had got too close to his skin. Thomas hissed, letting the fag drop to crush it underfoot.</p><p>Silent, he watched as Baxter looked up at Moseley with so much tender love in her eyes that he thought he might develop a cavity.</p><p><em>Christ she really does love him, </em>he wondered amazed.</p><p>“Being with you is a dream,” She whispered. “It’s when I wake up that everything turns back into a nightmare.”</p><p>Moseley’s breath caught in his throat. For a moment, he was unable to speak, moved by Baxter’s beauty. The way that the sunlight sparkled in her brown almond eyes.</p><p>“… What if you didn’t have to wake up?” he asked.</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>And then, with a fluid grace that Thomas did not know Moseley even possessed, he slid from the bench to the ground, till he was posed before Baxter on one knee.</p><p>Thomas’ jaw dropped, shocked at the display. Because if Moseley was doing what Thomas thought he was doing-!</p><p>“…Joseph-“ Baxter tried to say something but Moseley just clutched her hand, causing her to fall silent.</p><p>“Don’t make me wake up,” he whispered. “Don’t tell me the dream is over, not when its everything to me. Not when you’re my whole life.”</p><p>Baxter’s eyes were shining, full of unshed tears.</p><p>“Marry me,” Moseley begged. “Marry me, and never wake up.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><em>You little bastard, </em>Thomas thought jealously. How was it that in that moment he was both blindingly proud for Baxter and terribly irritated at Moseley. In some weird way, he was almost jealous.</p><p>Not of Moseley- god knows. But his affections for Baxter were hardly a secret and now that Moseley had gone and proposed to her she’d probably avoid him even more. She’d end up simpering and saintly, adoring her husband while he was left alone to scrub silver in the pantry. He supposed, in the end, he just didn’t want to lose Baxter. And if she got married… well… why would she want to be around him anymore?</p><p>But they were still talking. Pained, Thomas looked back to find that Baxter and Moseley were now holding one another. He felt more like a peeving brother than ever, crouched behind a bush and watching through the leaves.</p><p>“Joseph if you love me and are to marry me-“</p><p>“I do and I am-“</p><p>“Then there’s something you need to know.” She leaned in, her forehead touching his own. “Something very important to my heart. More than anything on this earth besides.”</p><p>This was a bit like looking at men in their pants, Christ he would he have to work at being good for a while to get over all the naughtiness wrapped around listening in on Baxter confessing her secrets.</p><p>Still, it’d be fun to tell Richard all the gory details.</p><p>“Anything,” Moseley was so soppy that he reached up and tucked a soft black lock hair behind Baxter’s petite ear.</p><p>“Thomas.”</p><p>At first, Thomas thought he’d been spotted, and his cheeks flushed with shame as he tried to put on an expression of confused indifference. Yet just as he tried to form an excuse for why he was hiding in the bushes, Thomas realized that Baxter hadn’t spotted him. That the reason she’d said his name was because he was the thing that was supposed so important to her heart.</p><p>And that rather touched him.</p><p><em>I have no place in this conversation, </em>he thought, wondering what on earth she was thinking to bring him up.</p><p>Crouching down again, Thomas leaned in so that he could see Baxter more clearly through the foliage. Moseley was concerned, you could see it evidently upon his face, but he was also somehow understanding. Like perhaps he’d been expecting for this topic to come up.</p><p>“Mr. Barrow,” Moseley repeated, a sort of odd acknowledgement of ‘I understand’.</p><p>“You don’t know this. No one does, save for her ladyship,” Baxter positioned herself a little closer in his arms. “Thomas and I grew up together,” she said. “We were neighbors as children, and I were his older sister Margret’s best friend.”</p><p><em>Oh for god’s sake, </em>Thomas rolled his eyes. Why on earth did any of this matter?</p><p>“You’re joking,” Moseley seemed mildly impressed.</p><p>He was slightly pained from crouching behind the bush. To take the pressure off his spine, he squatted down on his knees. This did not help his image of a childish little boy.</p><p>“Thomas…” Baxter didn’t seem to know how to say what needed to be said. “He’s had a… a….” She shook her head, and her voice became so awfully sad that Thomas winced. “He’s had a terrible life. Truly terrible. More than you could ever imagine.”</p><p>Moseley was taken aback. Thomas himself felt oddly uncomfortable, which was strange since he’d just seen an intimate proposal and hadn’t shifted a finger.</p><p>“I know he’s bitter and surly and can say horrible things,” Baxter said, and for each term Thomas’ cheeks grew hotter. Bitter and surly, was he? The nerve of her, after all that he’d done today to keep her in the clear!</p><p>“But he’s dearer to me than you could ever imagine, on the same scale that you are,” She said. “And if you love me, truly love me, then you must love him too.”</p><p>And at once, all of Thomas’ anger fled.</p><p>He’d never really imagined that Baxter cared about him to such a depth that she’d make such declarations. In a way it was the sort of verbal understanding that he needed to hear all along. To know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was cared for and that he was special to someone. He could remember being small and following around after Baxter and his older sister Margret. She’d been kind to him then, constantly nattering on about how sweet he was compared to other boys. He’d always though that she’d been blowing hot air, but this put things in a whole new light.</p><p><em>Christ, I think she might actually care about me, </em>he wondered in amazement.</p><p>“That’s a complicated thing to ask,” Moseley said, and it was clear that he was giving the matter a great deal of honest thought. “He’s a hard man to love.”</p><p>“He’s hardest on himself,” Baxter said. Like a student, Moseley was learning from the professional on the subject. “There are other things about Thomas that I cannot tell you. Things that have happened to him recently and in the past. Terrible things. He’s not well.”</p><p>“I can believe that,” Moseley said.</p><p>“He’s heart broken,” Baxter went on, which made Thomas feel distinctly uncomfortable. The bitter truth was, he agreed, but he hated it being brought up. She shifted a bit in Moseley’s arms, leaning in as if to nap upon his shoulder. “All I want is for him to be as happy as I am when I’m with you.”</p><p>Moseley cupped the back of her head, seemingly intoxicated by the smell of her hair. “I understand,” His voice was so soft, Thomas could barely hear it. “You don’t have to tell me anything else. Whatever it is, I understand. Or rather, I accept it. For you, and the love that you bear him.”</p><p>“Damnit,” Thomas whispered under his breath. How on earth was he going to be annoyed with Moseley now? It had been such fun, to be constantly annoyed with the man. Now, he’d have to treat him like a human being. Who would he pick on now? He supposed he could always go back to annoying Bates.</p><p>“Coyle-“ Thomas’ attention was jerked back to Baxter and Moseley. “Thomas knows about Coyle. He knows as much as you. He’s the only one who we can trust with the full secret. He lied today; he told the others I didn’t deserve prison. That I’d been framed. But he knows that’s not true. I suppose he also knows a thing or two about demons and devils. If there is anyone in this house that can protect me from Coyle, it’s him.”</p><p>“Then I need to talk to him,” Moseley agreed. “And figure out a plan to keep you safe.”</p><p>“I don’t know where he is,” Baxter said. Thomas gritted his teeth, nervous at the thought of being found out.</p><p>“Well…” Moseley stood up, offering Baxter his hand so that he could pull her to her feet. “He’ll be fine. He’s stronger than you know, and he knows it’s not safe out here. He’s probably just blowing off steam. He was a bit on point today-“ And at this, Moseley even laughed.</p><p>“I think Rose is going to have nightmares,” Baxter teased.</p><p>“I think I am too-“ they were now heading back inside, so that Thomas could straighten fully upward without being seen.</p><p>“Silence!” Baxter teased. Moseley laughed aloud. “Oh I could hardly believe it.”</p><p>“Glad we can laugh about it-“They were inside now, with Moseley shutting the door behind them.</p><p>Alone in the courtyard, Thomas exhaled a long breath and finally stepped out of the shadows back into the stone.</p><p>… Cor what an earful. Served him right for listening in on other people’s conversations.  </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It took Thomas several long moments of silence and waiting before he felt comfortable returning inside again. He didn’t want it to look like he’d been too close, and was relieved when he opened the door to find that no one was there. It would soon be the hour for dinner, and Thomas would have to both ring the gong and dress Lord Grantham. For now, however, he still had a slight moment of pause where he could sooth himself. What he really wanted to do, however, was call Richard, and so he went to his office with the intent of ringing the man at once.</p><p>How in the hell was he going to convey everything that had occurred. Would this sort of news have even made it down to London? And would Richard even care enough to notice the words ‘Grantham county’ or ‘Phyllis Baxter’? He might not have even remembered her name.</p><p>Sitting down behind his desk, Thomas made a mental note of the time and decided he would place a quick call to Richard with the intent of telling the man to grab a newspaper and see if there was anything inside. He cleared his desk and picked up his telephone, and nearly pressed the receiver only to be interrupted by a hesitant knock upon his door.</p><p> </p><p>“Come in,” Thomas said, phone still in hand. Today was unfortunately not the day to shy off visitors.</p><p>But the door opened to merely reveal Baxter and Moseley who must have realized he was b</p><p>Thomas put the phone back down, deciding he would simply call later.</p><p>“I can come back,” Baxter pointed towards the hall again.</p><p>“No,” Thomas waved them both in. “No, it’s fine. I was only going to call a friend it can wait.”</p><p>Moseley shut the door so that they could have some privacy.</p><p>“What a day,” the man wondered. “That performance you gave was worthy of Shakespeare!”</p><p>“You didn’t have to do it,” Baxter said. Thomas cut her off with a wave of the hand.</p><p>“Yes, I did,” He said. “I absolutely did.”</p><p>“He’s right,” Moseley said. It was so queer, to have the man back him up on a point. “The others can’t be allowed to talk about you like that.”</p><p>For a second, Thomas simply sat and regarded the man. His pallid complexion, his peculiarly blank expression, his domed head, and his thinning hair. He was the most remarkably unremarkable man he’d ever known. And yet, now that Thomas had seen Moseley propose to Baxter and forswear that he understood her love for him, Thomas could not help but see Moseley as slightly interesting… even likable.</p><p>It was a wholly foreign experience.</p><p>“… Mr. Moseley is lieu of what I’ve said, if you see anything let me know,” Thomas said. At this, Moseley’s chest puffed out with pride.</p><p>“I shall handle it myself, Mr. Barrow.” Moseley agreed.</p><p>“Well then,” Thomas leaned back in his chair so that the joints groaned. “I think we’ve got a good wall of defense between the pair of us. Now… is there anything else you want to tell me?” He asked. He wondered if Baxter would reveal that she was engaged, or if she would want to wait until things had calmed down.</p><p>But she began to smile, and there was an odd fluttering joy about her which made Thomas momentarily forget how truly awful the day had been. Few things cured his depression like Baxter smiling.</p><p>“I want to tell you first, before I tell anyone else,” Baxter said. Thomas pretended to look surprised, knowing full well what was coming next. “Mr. Moseley-“</p><p>“I’ve proposed to Ms. Baxter and she’s accepted.” Moseley cut her off at a record pace, far too enthused to keep quiet. Thomas couldn’t help but laugh a little bit but stopped as he noticed that Moseley looked crestfallen.</p><p>“I’m happy for you,” Thomas quickly amended. “Truly, more than you know. You two were meant for one another, it’s about time you finally tied the knot. Practically gave me a cavity with all your sweet nonsense.” And once again, Moseley was back to smiling like a goofball. Practically un-British of him.</p><p>“So…” Thomas made a noise of exhaustion, pulling out his date book from his desk drawer to flip it open to the current month. “What month are you thinking for the wedding? Given that we’ve got Daisy and Andrew getting married in a few weeks I would greatly appreciate some time to re-allocate funds and props. Why not aim for… middle of June? Good weather, and I should be sober enough by then to contend with the nonsense,” Thomas tried for a joke.</p><p>“That sounds excellent,” Moseley said, “But we’ll need to think of my school schedule. The school will have less children during the summer for the harvest.”</p><p>Yet as Moseley started going on about the prospects of a July versus August wedding, Thomas’ gaze slid back over to Baxter. In the lamplight, her skin had taken on another ghostly hue. She wasn’t with them, not mentally, and was instead staring at the newspaper upon Thomas’ desk where Coyle’s glossy portrait gloated back up at her.</p><p>“Ms. Baxter,” Thomas murmured. She caught his eye and seemed to gather herself as she ignored Coyle’s image.</p><p>“He’s coming to kill me,” she said. Moseley was dampened, wilting under the weight of his fiancé’s horrors. “Mr. Barrow—Thomas,” it was a mark of her sincerity to use his Christian name. “I think he’s coming to kill me, and I’m terrified. I don’t know what to do.”</p><p>He’d said the same words to her once, petrified and shaking with a fiery pain rocketing through his arse. She’d been kind to him then, reminding him of the sanest course of action and saving his life. She’d even called him brave, though he hadn’t understood why. Now it seemed that it was his turn to remind her of bravery. Funny how their roles were starting to swap.</p><p>“I understand,” Thomas said. Baxter didn’t seem to believe him though.</p><p>“You don’t. None of you can understand how evil he is until you see it for yourself, and by that time it’ll be too late.” The creepy fatalistic edge in her voice was something that Thomas had known before. He’d never seen it in another person but… he knew how to recognize it. It had been in his own mind when he’d wanted to die. The idea of Baxter being so degraded and broken that she too would try to take her own life made him go cold. He could not allow it to happen.</p><p>“I may have never met him,” Thomas said, “But I know how to recognize evil, Ms. Baxter. And I know how to battle with it and make a deal with it. I should hope you have enough faith in me to recognize that.”</p><p>“But you can’t make deals with him, Thomas,” She fretted. “No one can. He’s insane.”</p><p>“Leave it to me,” Thomas shushed her. She tried to speak again, tried to shoot down his determination but he wouldn’t have it. He just raised a hand, and carefully silenced her.</p><p>“Leave it to me,” He repeated, and this time he said it in such a gentle whisper he might have been talking to a child. “And celebrate. Tonight, every star in the sky shines for you and your wedding.”</p><p>And slowly, hesitantly, the fear in her eyes began to be replaced with joy again.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Petal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Daisy and Andy get married, much to Thomas' annoyance. An unexpected visitor shocks Thomas senseless, and offers Thomas insight into Coyle's motives, but Baxter isn't too enthused on the subject.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>No warnings for this particular chapter</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Normally, when Thomas was woken up by the sounds of panicked shouting, he might be keen to rise from bed and discover the source of the hullabloo. However the early morning hours of December 5<sup>th</sup> 1927 found Thomas awakened by the sound of Daisy crying to the phrase: <em>“It’s not white enough! My dress looks yellow.” </em>He slowly opened his aching eyes, and for a moment simply lay in the soft gloom of dawn listening to the women consoling her up the hall.</p><p>Well… every woman except for Ms. Baxter, who had been unceremoniously dumped from the wedding party.</p><p><em>“I’ll look yellow!” </em>Daisy wailed.</p><p>“Fuck,” Thomas muttered, before promptly rolling over and going back to sleep.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t get much more in the way of solid sleep, but he did get to shift a bit in bed and snooze until seven, which was unnervingly late for him. The family was being cared for today by staff at the Dower house, simply because so many of the Downton staff were roped into the wedding and Mrs. Patmore would not be able to cook. He dressed in his best suit, which was blue and pinstripe though slightly faded in the way of fashion, and parted his hair with a copious amount of gel. He hated going to church, and he couldn’t stand Father Travis who was a bigot and a zealot. Half of the battle, he figured, was to frighten the enemy before you even opened your mouth. With this mind, he was determined to look his best, and even put a tiny bit of cologne behind his ear (something he only reserved for the most special of occasions).</p><p>He went downstairs to find the basement in chaos. There were flowers everywhere, each in a more garish shade of pink than the last, along with a smattering of bows that still needed to be hung and banners declaring Andy and Daisy’s names in highly detailed calligraphy. All of it was over the top and obnoxious, it made Thomas want to vomit. He entered the kitchen to find Andy and Mr. Bates (who had come up from the village to help). Andy seemed torn between wolfing down a small bit of breakfast and tallying up all the flowers around him. A maid or two peltered past, carrying Daisy’s veil and a basket that would hold rose petals for the flower girl to throw (some child from the village Thomas did not know nor care about).</p><p>Determined to get himself a cup of coffee, Thomas stepped around Andy (who had not yet noticed him) and squeezed himself into the back corner of the kitchen. Normally at this time of day it would be full of smells and plates going up for the family’s breakfast and the servant’s as well. Now, it was just full of flowers.</p><p>“Christ, I don’t think we ordered enough flowers-“ Andy spun on the spot, speaking to anyone who dared to look at him for two seconds. “Can we take some from the family’s garden—Thomas!!”</p><p>Unfortunately, he was within arms reach, and Andy grabbed him to pull him close. Affronted, Thomas immediately jerked his arm out of Andy’s grip. “Mate, I need your help!”</p><p>“I’m not your mate,” Thomas snapped, “And even if I was, I haven’t forgiven you lot for Ms. Baxter.” To keep from snapping at the man again, Thomas quickly busied himself with pouring a cup of coffee. It was all hands to the pump this morning without the kitchen staff in attendance.</p><p>“Mr. Barrow, please!” Now Andy was reduced to begging, though he was still tactically ignoring the fact that Thomas was in a foul mood regarding Ms. Baxter’s poor treatment. “Can I cut some roses from the family’s garden? I don’t think we ordered enough!”</p><p>“Are you out of your mind?” Thomas demanded. The nerve of him, when the groundskeeper spent nearly half his budget trying to maintain Lady Grantham’s hedges! “You can’t just take things from the family just because you think you’re low on flowers. Christ, imagine if you’d have said that to Mr. Carson, he would have eaten you alive. Get dressed and get over yourself.” He set the kettle down with a sharp smack, irritably stirring in four lumps of sugar (he needed an extra lump this morning).</p><p>Andy was stung and looked on the verge of crying from sheer frustration. But before he could start yelling that all of this was terribly unfair, Mr. Bates saved the day by pulling Andy away and forcing him back towards the servant’s stairwell.</p><p>“Andy, relax,” Mr. Bates said. “Let me help you into your suit.”</p><p>“But we don’t have enough!” Andy begged.</p><p>“Yes, you do!” Mr. Bates was the sole voice of reason. As they went up the stairs, Mr. Moseley came down and joined Thomas in the kitchen to pour his own cup of coffee. Now it was just the pair of them, stuck in a queer maze of pink roses.</p><p>In the silence that followed from a lack of Andy, Thomas took a sip of sweetened coffee.</p><p>“I’m a pink flowery hell,” Thomas muttered. “And you’re my only ally in it.”</p><p>Moseley took a long sip of coffee, clearly needing it to wake up. He looked over his shoulder at all the mess of the taffeta, ribbon, and petals, and grimaced.</p><p>“I make you the solemn vow, I won’t do this with mine.” Moseley swore.</p><p>“Mr. Moseley,” Thomas regarded him in that moment in the light of a saint. “I’m liking you better by the day.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Despite Andy’s terror that there weren’t enough flowers and Daisy getting hysterical over the ‘shade of white’ that her dress was, the downstairs staff managed to make it out the doors of Downton Abbey close to nine. This gave them an hour to get to the church and in position for the ceremony at ten. From there, they’d have the wedding, a luncheon in the church hall, followed by a reception party which would last the rest of the day. It would all be wrapped up neatly by seven that night, when the family would return to the abbey and life would resume as normal. Daisy and Andy would then slip out the back for a weeklong honeymoon in Liverpool. Thomas, having been raised near Liverpool, had utterly no idea why anyone would want to honeymoon there.</p><p>Daisy had ridden ahead with Mrs. Patmore to avoid being seen by the rest of the staff, so the others were left to ride to the church on a loaned wagonette from Mr. Mason who would walk Daisy down the aisle. He’d been kind enough to pick everyone up in a cart draped with pink ribbons. Hay so normally meant for feeding his livestock was now used as impromptu seating, with a faded white quilt cast over it for comfort. It just managed to hold everyone, from the Bates to Andy to all the maids. Stuck apart from the group by force was Ms. Baxter, who’d put on her best only to be shunned at the far edge of the group near the front of the wagonette. To keep her company without standing out too much, Thomas sat in the front with Mr. Mason who drove a team of four fat horses down the main thoroughfare of the village. He leaned ever so casually on the back of his seat, so that his elbow was close to Baxter. Every so often, he’d casually glance to his right and catch her eye. He’d smile and she’d smile back. That was as good as it got now adays.</p><p>Across from her, Moseley was likewise trying to brighten her spirits by telling her all about the famous roses of Grantham county. It was the most boring conversation that Thomas had ever listened to.</p><p>“It’s rather fascinating, because the rose of York is defined only in words <em>Rose Argent barbed and seeded proper</em>, which means a white rose with sepals and seeds in their natural colors. So, the heraldic rose can be used with either a petal at the top or with a sepal at the top. However, we usually see with a petal at the top, not the sepal.”</p><p>“But what’s a sepal?” she wondered.</p><p>“It’s a part of the flower of angiosperms, it’s usually green and functions as protection for the flower in bud and supports the petals when they’re in bloom. It comes from the term sepalum which was coined by Noel Martin Joseph de Necker in 1790-“</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>“He was a Belgian physician and botanist! As a matter of fact, the moss genus Neckera and its family the Neckeraceae were named in his honor.”</p><p>“The what?”</p><p>“It’s a moss family, there are about 200 species native to temperate and tropical regions in it. There’s actually two families now, because originally it was placed within the Leucodontales but now we also include the Hypnales. I can name them for you if you want! I was studying it last night!”</p><p>“Why not,” Baxter said with a smile.</p><p>“Let’s see-“ Moseley scrunched up his face, thinking hard. If Thomas listened intently, he could almost hear his two last brain cells rubbing together in a desperate attempt to keep warm in the barren winter that was his brain. “Alleniella, Baldwiniella, Bryolawtonia, Caduciella-“</p><p>“I’m going to vomit,” Thomas muttered under his breath, tuning out Moseley’s rambling by instead focusing on the horse in front of him which had decided to relieve itself. The smell was noxious but not nearly as upsetting as Moseley trying to name off every family of moss.</p><p>A prickling heat made Thomas turn to the left, only to find Mr. Mason staring at him intently. Unnerved, Thomas looked away and continued to examine the English countryside. Yet after a period of time, when he glanced back again, he still found the man staring at him and could not help but be annoyed.</p><p>“… What?” Thomas demanded, bristling at the way Mr. Mason kept staring at him like a lost cause. “Why do you keep looking at me?”</p><p>Sensing Thomas was not in the mood, Mr. Mason returned his gaze to the road. The horse’s ears swiveled as another cart went past carrying a farmer with a load of hay. He tipped his hat to Mr. Mason, who did the same back.</p><p>“Daisy showed me the paper, with Ms. Baxter,” Mr. Mason said. Thomas bit his tongue, determined not to argue if he could. “I wanted to offer my sympathies. I can’t imagine what she’s been through. To be wrongfully imprisoned, and to love someone so evil.”</p><p>Well. That was… unexpected.</p><p>Faced with the fact that Mr. Mason did not think Ms. Baxter was a criminal, Thomas didn’t know what to say. In a way he was oddly relieved, and hoped the man was talking some sense into his daughter every night. Thomas looked away, and out over the fields of Downton. In the late year, all the harvests had been reaped and now they were re-sowing for the next season. You could like for miles and see nothing but teams of men on horseback with plows between their trouser legs.</p><p>“You know, Mr. Barrow, we haven’t had a moment to talk, you and I.” Mr. Mason said.</p><p>“I’m sorry?” Thomas looked back around, disgruntled. What on earth did they have to talk about?</p><p>Mr. Mason seemed to know Thomas was nearing an argument, so he kept his eyes straight ahead, and spoke in a calm voice. “I’ve wanted to speak with you for quite some time now. Just the two of us.”</p><p>If he was honest with himself, Thomas had a feeling he knew why Mr. Mason wanted to talk to him and it made him distinctly uncomfortable. The fact of the matter was that William Mason had been dead for many years now, and Thomas was happier to leave him in the past. But for some people, the golden boy’s shining memory continued to live on. There was no way to look at the situation and see himself in a sympathetic light.</p><p>“… We are not having this conversation,” Thomas said.</p><p>“Not yet,” he conceded. “But we will. We have to before it’s all said and done.”</p><p>Unsure of how to reply, Thomas simply kept silent. Neither man spoke for the rest of the ride.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>About fifteen minutes later, the wagonette approached the edge of the church yard. Daisy’s wedding had drawn a smattering of village admirers, who had always gotten on with Mrs. Patmore or done business with the Downstairs staff. Mr. Mason parked the wagonette near the edge to avoid the commotion, and everyone disembarked with Thomas hopping out last. Mr. Moseley and Ms. Baxter linked arm in arm, keeping up the end of the group so that Thomas could walk alongside them. Moseley was still naming off members of the moss family to Baxter who was in a word, entranced. Thomas wished he could tell the man to shuttup, but to do so might cause Baxter discomfort. Oh, to be stuck between a rock and a hard place.</p><p>On the fringes of the crowd, Thomas started to see familiar faces. Mr. Bakewell was waving to Mrs. Patmore, who was wearing a salmon colored dress with a heavy ruffle at the neck and wrists. She was walking towards Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes, who were shaking hands with Ms. Oldfield, a woman who often did business with the downstairs kitchen for cheaper cuts of meat than the butcher’s usually offered. They were all having a gaff regarding Mr. Carson’s backyard garden, which he was boasting about so loudly that it was impossible not to hear.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“My pumpkins are the size of dogs!” He declared with pride. “I swear it!”</p><p>“Charlie you’re such a fibber,” Mrs. Hughes laughed.</p><p>“We shan’t have to buy produce for the rest of the year.”</p><p>“Oh well, we’ll just have to see about that, now won’t we?” Mrs. Patmore linked arms with Mrs. Hughes, the pair of them walking to the church. Mr. Carson was close to joining them until he noticed Thomas walking past with Ms. Baxter and Mr. Moseley.</p><p>“Mr. Barrow,” All his good humor evaporated to be replaced by disdain. “I must speak with you.”</p><p>Ms. Baxter slowed up, arm in arm with both men. She was nervous, and it showed on her pretty face.</p><p>“Go,” Thomas ordered, unlinking his arm. “I’ll handle this.”</p><p>“Come on,” Moseley whispered in his fiancé’s ear, taking her into the church. Left alone with the old butler, Thomas squared himself up for another battle. From Mr. Mason to Mr. Carson… he was spoilt for choice!</p><p>“Mr. Carson,” He greeted.</p><p>Keen to not be overheard, he pulled Thomas to the side so that the rest of the groups could pass unimpeded. Now they were whispering to each other in the undergrowth of a large willow tree.</p><p>“Mrs. Hughes has told me what has occurred,” he muttered, eyes narrowed. “I confess at first I was furious, but then she reminded me of my own transgressions with the Bates’ and I was shown the error of my ways. I wanted to make it clear, however, that you lied to me about Ms. Baxter when I gave her employment. You willfully brought a criminal into our house. That is unforgivable in my eyes.”</p><p>“Oh what a shame,” Thomas sneered, for this was a lousy weapon to try and lob at him. “And here we were, such good friends.” He tried to leave, but Mr. Carson stopped him with a hand on his elbow.</p><p>“I am not finished,” He warned.</p><p>“Well I am,” Thomas said. He jerked his elbow out of Mr. Carson’s grip. The man was close to yelling at him, but couldn’t do so in front of company or a church. Given a reprieve, Thomas slipped away.</p><p>He walked up the main steps of the church, threading his way through a group of older women, only to hear the sounds of raised voices coming from around the edge of the building. It wouldn’t have garnered much attention from him, save that it was quite easy to pick out the voices of Moseley and Andy. Unable to deny his curiosity, Thomas side-stepped Mr. Bates (who was helping as an usher) to instead follow the stone path around the back edge of the church were a few old benches were shrouded in rose bushes. He paused at the lining, a hand upon weathered stone as he finally spotted Moseley and Andy in their Sunday best arguing behind an imposing statue of a saint weeping over the body of Christ.</p><p>“Please, I don’t want to be up there alone!” Andy begged. “I want to feel like I have someone on my side! This day is all about Daisy, I want to have something that’s mine.”</p><p>“Well then, let Ms. Baxter sit with the rest of the staff,” Mr. Moseley demanded. “I won’t budge on it, Andy.”</p><p>“And neither will I!” Andy retorted. “She’s a thief and a criminal, and now half the county’s on lock down because her creepy ex is lurking in the shadows. Honestly I don’t know why you’re shot of her!”</p><p>“Then get Mr. Barrow to do it because I’m not going up there!” Mr. Moseley was close to losing his temper now, always a danger sign when Baxter was referred to as a criminal.</p><p>“He won’t do it!” Andy bemoaned. “He keeps acting all touchy because it’s a church.”</p><p>“Then you’re out of luck.”</p><p>“But- please-!”</p><p>“Don’t <em>please </em>me, Andy!” Moseley turned away, heading back towards the front of the church. Eager to keep well away from this argument, Thomas backtracked several paces. “This situation is all your own doing. If you’re alone up there, it’s only because you won’t show an ounce of decency or compassion to the woman that I love.”</p><p>“But-“</p><p>But Moseley wasn’t listening. He left Andy, fretful and panicky in the shadows of the courtyard. Thomas returned to the main throng of the church goers and blended seamlessly into the crowd as Moseley stormed past Mr. Bates to head inside the church.</p><p>Bates cast Thomas a glance, which perfectly read ‘<em>What was that about?</em>’. Thomas just shrugged.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When Thomas entered the church, it was to the sound of droning organ music and the babbling of the crowd. Every servant and friend was sitting at the front, save for Ms. Baxter who had somehow wound up being put near the back. Mr. Moseley was sitting at her side and looked peeved. Curious, Thomas joined them, sidling down the pew past a few old women to sit on Baxter’s other side.</p><p>“I’ve been banished,” Baxter mumbled, as a way of explaining her spot. “The others said there wasn’t enough room for me.”</p><p>“And yet apparently there was for me,” Mr. Moseley wondered irritably. Sure enough, there was a sizable gap near the front where three people could have easily sat next to Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Hughes. No prizes were to be given out who those three seats had originally been for.</p><p>“Well I like it back here,” Thomas replied, relaxing upon the pew, and stretching his arm out behind Baxter’s neck. “I don’t have to pretend to care.”</p><p>“Don’t be ungenerous,” Mr. Moseley warned.</p><p>“No, I’ll leave to that them,” Thomas gestured to their workmates.</p><p>“The others are still treating me like a pariah,” Baxter murmured. “I don’t know why I’m surprised.” It was very queer, to sit so far away from the rest of the group. There was also the fact that Mr. Moseley and Daisy used to be close. Now, however, Moseley wore a stony expression and would not meet the gaze of his co-workers. Thomas had to admit, the man had grit.</p><p>“You believe in the best of them,” Thomas mused. “It’s not a crime.”</p><p>“What did Mr. Carson want?” Moseley asked.</p><p>“What he always wants,” Thomas said. “To nag me.”</p><p>“About me?” Baxter asked.</p><p>“Course,” he shrugged, relaxing more against the pew. “But he’s acting saintly and claiming he’s sympathetic. Don’t be taken in by it though. It’s all an act. All these people we work with are actors, some are simply better paid for it. Besides if it makes you feel any better, he still hates me more than you.”</p><p>At this, Baxter grew reproachful and was suddenly gazing at him sympathetically as if he were the one who was suffering from public humiliation.</p><p>“Are you alright?” she asked.</p><p>“Why wouldn’t I be?” Thomas shrugged.</p><p>“It’s just…” Baxter leaned in, waiting till Moseley was speaking to another church goer before whispering. “I know it’s probably hard on you, watching people get married.”</p><p>Ah.</p><p>This was an incredibly dangerous place to speak of such things. It showed a boldness in Baxter that he appreciated. He smiled at her, amused by her dark edge.</p><p>“I’m numb to it,” Thomas told her, and it was quite true. After watching nearly everyone else get married, it just didn’t reach him anymore. He’d accepted that he’d never know the joy, and that was just the way things were.</p><p>She squeezed his hand. He squeezed back.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It was alright, watching Daisy and Andy get married. Daisy’s dress didn’t look yellow at all, it was just ivory. She was a dainty image in lace, with her head covered in a strange webbing that must have been the fashion. Mr. Mason walked her gallantly up the aisle, and she beamed at everyone as a village girl threw flowers upon the ground in her wake. Andy at the front with no one by his side, which must have struck Mr. Carson as odd because several times he looked back around to where Moseley, Baxter, and Thomas were sitting. Though Andy looked panicky at first, he quickly gained his footing when he took Daisy in hand and swore his vows. When they kissed and solidified their union, Thomas noted that a great deal of the crowd either clapped or cheered. He did neither, unamused by the day’s proceedings. At the head of it all was Father Travis, and though he looked like a sweet doting old man when he pronounced Daisy and Andy to be husband and wife, he was nothing more than a demon clothed in human flesh. The very pits of his eyes were the blackest black, like there were no soul left within him.</p><p>The church dispersed in a wave of pink flowers, and outside much hullabaloo was given as a photographer drafted in from the village took a few pictures. Clearly the man was getting paid by the minute, because he was jostling everyone into and out of position so fast that in four pictures were taken in the time it normally took to do two. Thomas watched from the sidelines, smoking a cigarette, wondering at the pomposity of it all. First they wanted a picture with the family, then just Daisy’s family, then Andy’s family who had come up from London and were just as ugly and gangly as he was. Frankly Thomas couldn’t tell the difference between his mother and his father, save that his mother had breasts. Then Mr. Mason wanted a picture just with Daisy, then just with Andy, and finally the entire party was grouped around the couple to be squeezed in like sardines.</p><p>“And now, the whole group!” The photographer urged. Thomas was suddenly roped in, dragged to Andy’s side with Moseley at his elbow. He tried to smile, but it was difficult when he was inwardly furious with nearly everyone in the photograph. However, before the camera man could take the image, Thomas watched Father Travis lean in and speak so that the photographer paused.</p><p>“You sir-!” He pointed to Thomas. “Not you! Come down from there!”</p><p>Thomas bristled. Baxter looked around, horrified at the outright insult being flung at his feet. Knowing full well that everyone was watching (and most were clueless) Thomas stepped back to allow Mr. Carson to take his place. To his credit, Mr. Carson did not look entirely happy, and was instead quite somber compared to the rest of the group who were trying to smile again. Slipping around the edge of the crowd, Thomas watched as the photographer re-adjusted his lens.</p><p>“Perfect now, all together-!” He held up a hand, and then closed it into a fist as the flashbulb went off. Thomas was momentarily blinded, wincing in the rise of acrid smoke.</p><p>As the smoke cleared, Thomas saw Father Travis on the photographer’s other side glaring at him with malicious intent. Unable to offer a word of rebuttal without being drug down to the police station, Thomas just glared back.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>After the pictures came the feast, with everyone crammed into the church hall. Mrs. Patmore had apparently roped in several old friends to cook Daisy her wedding breakfast. Courses were laid out in a buffet to include bread, hot rolls, buttered toast, tongue, ham, eggs, pommes noisette, and a large array of fruit. The champagne was cheap but tolerable, and helped Thomas to feel a little more relaxed as he ate on the sidelines with Baxter. Moseley had been roped into speaking to a group of women who were apparently mothers to the children that he taught. Each of them wanted to know how their own child was doing in school, and none would take an easy answer.</p><p>“It’s not bad,” Baxter mused, sucking icing from her fork. “Bit over the top.”</p><p>“When it’s yours you can have the whole world and all besides,” Thomas promised her.</p><p>“Yes but who would come,” She wondered.</p><p>“Leave it to me,” Thomas assured her. “I’ll start shouting the house down and force the others to behave. They won’t have a choice.”</p><p>Thomas threw back the rest of his champagne like a shot, ordered over a waiter, got another glass, and began to chug it like it were water.</p><p>“Awful stuff,” He muttered. Still, he continued to drink it.</p><p> </p><p>The breakfast soon turned into a luncheon, with no one willing to leave until all the champagne was drunk. Given that Mr. Bakewell had been the one to supply it, they would probably be there for a few more hours getting sloshed. Four glasses in, Thomas slunk along the back wall and watched as Andy got raucously drunk while his father declared he’d ‘never been prouder’.</p><p>That, above all other things, stung.</p><p>A lumbering shadow along the back wall caught his attention. Bates was walking over (rather, hobbling), with a plate of cake in hand. He offered it to Thomas who decline with a shake of the head.</p><p>“Anna wants me to eat it, but I can’t stand the stuff,” Bates explained. “Thought I could fob it off on you.”</p><p>“Already had a plate,” Thomas explained. Mercifully the answer to Bates’ problem came in the form of Johnny Bates, who was toddling after a few older boys that were talking about a game of football in the yard.</p><p>“Johnny,” Bates called his son over with a smile. He was still a little too young to run quickly, but he came all the same, beaming up at Bates like he were the image of God on earth.</p><p>“Cake,” Bates said, giving his son the plate. Johnny’s eyes were as round as coins as he took the fork and dug in. He couldn’t hold it properly and had to sit down on the floor lest his lose his grip. He was delighted by his find, and it left Bates to relax without having to worry about sating his wife.</p><p>“Bit over the top,” Bates muttered, leaning against the wall. “Making you get out of the picture like that.”</p><p>“You sound surprised,” Thomas said.</p><p>“I didn’t think he’d go that far,” Bates said.</p><p>“I knew he would,” Thomas headed for the back door, with Bates following him at a casual gate. “That’s why I didn’t accept Andy’s request to be his best man.”</p><p>“That was very noble of you,” they descended the steps into the grass, and were given a reprieve from the noise and heat of the crowd. Down the slope, the sleepy graveyard was settled with mist from the winter morning. Somewhere in the back thicket, lost amongst the weeds, was Edward Courtney’s gravestone.</p><p>“Noble…” The word had never been used to describe him before. “I better see a doctor. I must be ill.”</p><p>Bates grinned, and opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the return of Father Travis who saw Thomas outside and stopped.</p><p>“Haven’t you done enough today?” Father Travis demanded. “Why are you still here?”</p><p>Thomas felt a vicious, nasty edge rise within him, its heat licking at the inside of his throat and stomach. He was suddenly imagining all the vicious things he could do to that man. All the ways he could make him squirm.</p><p>“Oh I was just admiring your beautiful trappings,” Thomas sneered. “Funny… how much money you can make selling something invisible.”</p><p>Father Travis simply turned up his nose. Unable to deny the fact that being a priest was a lucrative business, he instead turned to the bible for a defense and found one ready made.</p><p>“Corinthians six through nine,” he sneered, eyes burning like fire as they glared. “The unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God. Do not be deceived. Neither the sexually immoral, nor adulterers, nor men who practice homosexuality.” And at this word, Father Travis let his voice turn into a hiss like he were a snake.</p><p>In a way he was.</p><p>Mr. Bates had grown incredibly uncomfortable. “Can’t you leave well enough alone?” Bates demanded. “This is a wedding for god’s sake, no one came here for a sermon.”</p><p>“I should be wary if I were you Mr. Bates,” Father Travis said, returning to the safety of his church. “Those who associate with sinners will be less likely to receive favor with the lord. And you are already on shaky ground.”</p><p>At this, he closed the door.</p><p>Bitter, Thomas jerked his cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one with an angry strike of the match.</p><p>“Fucking bastard,” He cursed under his breath. He took a deep drag of nicotine, trying to calm himself.</p><p>“Can I have one?” Bates asked. In an act of charity, Thomas shared one, and allowed Bates to light his own fag against Thomas’ cherry.</p><p>“I wonder what I’ve done,” Bates mused.</p><p>“Give him time to get more wind in his bag, he’ll tell you,” Thomas sneered.</p><p>“Well, forget him,” Bates flicked at his cigarette with his thumb so that some ash scattered to the ground. “I wanted to talk to you about the paper. Anna and I were shocked at first, but now it makes sense. Now I get why Ms. Baxter didn’t want to talk to the police when Anna was being investigated.”</p><p>Thomas shrugged. In truth, he’d had more of a hand in that than he felt comfortable admitting.</p><p>“Can you blame her?” he wondered.</p><p>“No,” Bates agreed. “And I know what it is to be wrongly imprisoned.”</p><p>In a way, keeping the fact that Baxter had committed the crime under his hat made Thomas feel reprieved for having brought her so much trouble in the beginning. It was like his penance.</p><p>“Well… the others are being tetchy about it,” Thomas said through another drag. “So why don’t you use your saintly image to sway them.”</p><p>For some reason, this didn’t set well with Bates. “I thought you and I were going down a better path.”</p><p>He sighed, now well and truly exhausted. It was one thing to shy off Mr. Mason or argue with Mr. Carson. It was another thing to annoy Mr. Bates. So many years he’d spent arguing with the man that Thomas just didn’t have it in his anymore. They weren’t particularly friends, but they weren’t enemies either. He didn’t want them to be enemies again. Not now, or ever.</p><p> </p><p>“… Sorry.” Thomas whispered. “Travis got under my skin, and seeing people get married is hard for me.”</p><p>Bates pondered on that one for a while, so that the pair of them smoked in contemplative silence. A wind blew past and carried with it their smoke and a few final dying leaves of autumn.</p><p>“… Well.” Bates had finished his cigarette and put it out underneath his polished boot. “You’re a better man than Travis by far, and just because you can’t get married in a church doesn’t mean you can’t get married at all.”</p><p>Thomas was taken aback. “What?”</p><p>“What do you think marriages started with churches or men like Travis?” Bates asked. “I have a feeling that people have been having ceremonies for love far longer than that. I’m going back inside, are you coming?”</p><p>“God no,” Thomas said, for he had no desire to get anywhere near Travis and his fucking pulpit. “I’m going for a walk.”</p><p>“Are you sure it’s safe?” Bates asked, one foot on the steps. “Those criminals could be out there in the woods.” And this was frankly quite true. But Thomas wasn’t scared of those men. Not nearly as much as he feared people like Travis and the power they held in the community.</p><p>“I’m not afraid,” Thomas said. Bates regarded him with respect but left him alone.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It was unbelievably satisfying to simply walk through the graveyard of Downton Church and be left alone after such an exhausting day. At this time of the year, most trees had shed their leaves save for a few evergreens that dotted the landscape. There was a lovely calm away from the party, a sort of absence of space that only came when all the humans were gone. The remains of Downton’s ancestors were left mostly untouched save for grieving war widows. Today, no one was in the graveyard save for Thomas, and he relished in a chance to be alone.</p><p>There was a spot he knew well on the far side, a place that he went from time to time if he was feeling particularly melancholy. Edward Courtney had been laid to rest on the western side of the church, in an area that was reserved for the ‘sinners’ who could not be buried on hallowed ground. Here were the remains of his fellows, as Thomas understood them. Prostitutes, beggars, thieves, and liars. Amongst them, in the epicenter of humanities strife, lay the lone suicide that had so shaped his existence for a few years. Edward had been dead for nearly ten years now, but it felt like a lifetime ago that Thomas had sat by his side and urged him to be strong.</p><p>Now, Thomas stood by Edward’s grave, and carefully brushed way dirt from the headstone so that its message shone a little brighter.</p><p> </p><p>“… You never even knew,” Thomas whispered, stroking the crumbling stone. He plucked a few weeds free so that Edward’s name could be better seen. “You probably would have hated me too, but just so you know-“ Thomas swallowed, an odd tightening sensation closing up the back of his throat. “I did love you,” He whispered the words, too afraid to say them out loud. “So you weren’t that alone were you.”</p><p>It was comforting just to sit there and be with Edward. To remember how kind the man had been, but also how afraid and alone. How he’d clung to Thomas in the dark, wishing to god he could see. Maybe in a way that was why it was so special for him to close his eyes when Richard called. Maybe the pair of them were convening in an area that Thomas had only designated to Edward before. That fragile, terrifying darkness where you could hide for a thousand years-</p><p>A hand was on his shoulder.</p><p>Thomas shrugged it off, thinking it was probably Baxter. Rising up, he brushed off his backside as he turned around.</p><p>“You didn’t need to f-“ But the word ‘follow’ caught in his throat as he realized just who was standing before him with their hand on his shoulder.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Christopher Vincent Webster.</p><p> </p><p>“Christopher?!” Thomas almost shouted the name in shock before Chris threw his hand over Thomas’ mouth and held it there to muffle any sound. The man was filthy, in rags, and had a dark bruise underneath his left eye—but how had he found Thomas, and what the hell was he doing in Downton?! Terrified, Thomas whipped around, searching the horizon for signs of any party stragglers or mourners who might be visiting the deceased.</p><p>Perhaps sensing Thomas’ fear, Christopher pulled him back from Edward’s grave and into the thicket until they well hidden by shrugs and branches of overgrown oak trees. The details of the damning article were flashing through Thomas’ mind. Of seven policemen dead and how Christopher was supposedly convicted of killing five more men. Was he hiding in a bush with a murderer? Was he completely out of his mind or was Christopher innocent?</p><p>But he was smiling at Thomas, smiling at him like he were the sun and the moon—like he were everything good in the world.</p><p>“Are you completely and utterly insane?” Thomas demanded.</p><p>Christopher just laughed. “I told you,” He whispered. “I said I’d see you soon.”</p><p>“Yes but-“ now Thomas was the one who was close to laughing. “But how… How did you do it? How did you break out?”</p><p>“Friends on the outside,” Christopher whispered. They were so close now that their noses were nearly touching. They were hiding from the world in this tiny impenetrable bubble of nature. It was ludicrous that Thomas could still hear Daisy and Andy’s wedding celebration in the background. Two worlds had collided in that moment, leaving him struggling to know where he stood in both.</p><p>“But it said in the paper that seven men were dead,” Thomas whispered.</p><p>“And how many more men like us are dead?” Christopher whispered back. “Men who were arrested just for dancin’? How many of those men were responsible for that?”</p><p>He didn’t have the strength to battle Christopher on the subject. He was riding a nirvana like high, shocked at seeing him again. It was all taking him back to that night when they’d danced in Turpins.</p><p>How wonderful it had felt, to be pressed up against another man. To feel loved and wanted. Normal.</p><p>“Christopher you killed five men, that’s what it said in the papers-“</p><p>“Hey…” Christopher cupped his face in his hands. “Yeah I did. I did it on a whiskey run that went bad, I admit it. But let me worry about that, not you. I didn’t come here to recruit you to kill somebody. I came here to be with you.”</p><p>“Be with me?”</p><p>“Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you,” but truly Thomas was confused until Christopher dropped his hands from his face and took up his own hand instead to kiss it sweetly upon the knuckles. Thomas’ eyes widened in response- he was insane!</p><p>Anyone could see them, anyone at all-</p><p>“We got interrupted last time,” Christopher whispered lovingly. “But I won’t be taken away from you now. Not when I risked everything to see you again.”</p><p>“Christopher, we can’t,” Thomas begged. “There’s a church right over there hosting a wedding reception. Anyone could see. We’re out in the open-“</p><p>“I am more dangerous than any man in this village,” Christopher assured him, and frankly Thomas had a feeling that was the truth. “And nothing scares me, save the thought of losing you again.”</p><p>He’d never been spoken to in such a way. Courted. Wooed.</p><p>It dumbfounded him. It left him unable to put up a defense, to imagine that someone in this world liked him. That they would risk ruin just to be with him. That they would kill seven policemen just to find him again. He’d never had anyone love him like that.</p><p>But there was this great chasm separating the pair of them from being together in that moment, and it had a name. A face. A voice. And all that Thomas felt for Christopher in that moment was suddenly evaporated as he remembered another. A kiss, and a pair of closed eyes hiding behind closed doors. A gloved finger to his lips, and a walk in the moonlight.</p><p>“I-“</p><p>Christopher was still kissing his knuckles, sweetly opening his fingers to taste the flesh of his palm. “Won’t you be mine?”</p><p>“Christopher there a things you don’t know,” Thomas was close to crying and he couldn’t say why. “The night we were arrested, I was bailed out by a man that says he cares for me. And I won’t be unfaithful to either of you. That’s not in me-“</p><p>“Oh yeah?” For whatever reason, Christopher didn’t look too upset. He just smiled sweetly and continued to hold Thomas’ hand to his chest. “An’ where is this man now?”</p><p>“London,” Thomas said.</p><p>“London,” Christopher repeated. “Quite far, don’t you think, to be courtin’ someone.”</p><p>“It’s complicated,” Thomas said.</p><p>“Ah I hate it when people say that,” Christopher tilted his head, reaching up to tuck a stray piece of black hair behind Thomas’ ear. “Why’s it so complicated, really? Is he here or not?”</p><p>“No-“</p><p>“No, an’ I am. So, give me a chance, eh? Last time I saw you, we were having this problem before. He’d ditched you.”</p><p>“Well… he was seeing his parents; he doesn’t often get to because they live in York.”</p><p>“So, you’re going to spend your life pining for mummy’s boy who abandons you, or are you going to get with a man who can provide for you.”</p><p>And there was something about the way he said ‘provide’ which left little to the imagination. Thomas shuddered.</p><p>“But…” They were getting off subject- <em>way </em>off subject. “But Chris, you’re a wanted man. Where are you going to go, what are you going to do?”</p><p>“Oh-“ At this, Christopher just laughed again unfazed. “I’ve always been a wanted man. I run with a rough crowd. I’m in a gang called the Red Brigade. We make our own way in the world, and I much prefer it. No need to try and pretend to be decent.” And he leaned in like he might get a kiss from Thomas.</p><p>But the words ‘red brigade’ dried up any feelings of lust that might have been formerly inspired within him. Coyle lead the Red Brigade, and if Christopher was involved that meant he took his orders directly from the man that had tried to ruin Baxter’s life.</p><p>And that was unforgivable.</p><p>“… The Red Brigade,” Thomas leaned back so that there was still room between them. Christopher blinked.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Your boss. Coyle. He your friend?” Thomas demanded. Christopher was nonplussed.</p><p>“I whack people and he pays me for it,” He shrugged. “that is the end our beautiful and deep relationship.”</p><p>“Yeah-“ Thomas wasn’t going to be fobbed off by that bullshit. He turned to go. “Well one of his victims is my best friend, and as dear to me as anyone on this earth, so excuse me if I’m not eager to take up with a member of his little posse.”</p><p>“Woah- woah!” Christopher took him by the waist, pulling him back into the hedge before anyone could see him step up. “Hold up now, don’t get so saucy!”</p><p>“If I’d known you were connected with him back at that pub in York, I would never have gone with you to Turpins!” Thomas said, a finger in Christopher’s face. Christopher now looked more like a petulant child being denied a sweet than a man scorned by a lover. “Good luck, and goodbye.” He tried to leave again, but once more Christopher would not let go.</p><p>“Wait, wait! Baby-“ He pulled Thomas back into the hedge for a second time. “Sugar, listen to me-“</p><p>“Don’t call me that-“</p><p>“Look, listen to me-“ Christopher now spoke earnestly, and there was a pained expression which begged Thomas to take a second glance at the situation. Like perhaps he didn’t know all the information. “Just hear me out.”</p><p>Fine. He’d do that, but no more. Arms crossed over his chest, Thomas waited for the excuses. What he found instead was a rather compelling argument.</p><p>“Now look, I’m not going to sit here, and tell you that I didn’t know Coyle was bad news,” Christopher said.  “But I was desperate to get out of jail, and he said he could help me if I helped him. I’m not on a big scale like he is, I run whisky I don’t murder people- alright I killed five people in a shootout, but that’s not the same thing. I’ve never hunted down women for sport, and I certainly don’t get my rocks off by trying to trap other people. I was in a bad situation, sugar. I had to make the best of it to get out and see you again. Coyle and I have an agreement, that’s the end of it. I promise you, I’m not his best buddy, we don’t go out for pints or play cards on the weekends. This is merely a business venture, and as far as we’re concerned, I work independently of him. Okay?”</p><p>He didn’t know whether to believe him or not, but there was something in the way he said it which made Thomas believe it was the truth.</p><p>“He’s not my boss,” Christopher continued on. “No one is the boss of me. C’ept my nan, and she’s been dead for thirty years. So I don’t work for him, alright? I merely… attend meetings with him.”</p><p>“Attend meetings?” Thomas repeated. “What is this, a fucking bridge club?”</p><p>“Well, it’s…” Christopher tilted his head from side to side. “It’s complicated, babe. You can’t just immediately bail on the man who breaks you out of jail. I owe him technically. Whisky. And until my end of the bargain is up I don’t get to go very far. But he knows I’m not running, and that’s all that matters. I can hold my own with Coyle. Now, what did he do to your friend to make you hate him so much?”</p><p>“Because the killing of thirteen innocent women is by the by,” Thomas grumbled.</p><p>“Hey, I don’t like it either, but I got put in a cell with him. So…” Christopher weighed his hands out in mid air as if he were a pair of scales. “It was either join him or be number fourteen.”</p><p>Well, that made a bit of sense at the very least.</p><p>“… He ruined her life,” Thomas said. He was too afraid to tell Christopher the rest, lest he realize it was Baxter. “She got sunk for loving him, like he was even worth loving. An’ that’s all that I’m saying.”</p><p>But instead of pressing Thomas for more detail or acting suave, Christopher seemed to notice a detail that Thomas had not. Despite hiding her name and what had happened, something had struck Christopher as off about his sentence.</p><p>“… Is her name…” Christopher trailed off.</p><p>“What.” Thomas was afraid he might say ‘Baxter’ at any moment. What would he do then?</p><p>“It’s just… He doesn’t really have a long list of lovers,” Christopher said. “But he went on and on about this one dame while we were locked up together. I mean… ranting. Raving.” Christopher shuddered. “He’s a fuckin’ lunatic but he has good taste in whisky so I can’t hold that against him.”</p><p>“I can’t believe-“ Thomas jerked out of Christopher’s grip. “WE are even <em>having </em>this conversation! I’m with someone else, even if they are in London. And you are a criminal. Goodbye, Christopher,” He headed for the rim of the hedge again. Once more, Christopher pulled him back.</p><p>“Baby, sweety, sugar, darlin-“ He clearly had a million names where Thomas was concerned. “Don’t take on so, I’m on your side! I’m not some common criminal-“</p><p>“Actually you are-“</p><p>“Okay I am,” he wouldn’t deny it when confronted with the facts. “But darlin… I broke out of jail to be with you. I thought of nothing but you while I was inside. And now that I’m here, I don’t want to lose you again, particularly because of some fuckin’ creep I was forced to make friends with. Hey-“ He cupped Thomas’ face in his hands. “I’m on your side. Okay? Whoever your friend is… I’m her friend to.”</p><p>“Well I’m not tellin’ you anything more about her,” Thomas warned. “So don’t ask.”</p><p>Christopher conceded to that. “Look… Coyle runs in codes. He has to. Everyone around him has a code name. That’s how our identities keep secret. So this girl, if she was with him, she’d have a code name. Ask her. I don’t have to now her real name. Her code will be more than enough.”</p><p>“And what’s the code of this girl he went on about in prison?” Thomas asked.</p><p>“Petal,” Chris replied. This put Thomas at ease, for he’d never heard Baxter make any reference to name like ‘petal’. God only knows how many women had been wrapped up in Coyle’s net before.</p><p> </p><p>“But I’m getting distracted-“ At this he smiled, leaning in once more. “I’m not here to regale my insane roommate’s issues… I came here to be with you,” and it rang true to a memory deep within Thomas, when he’d thought Philip Prevette had come to Downton to be with him.</p><p>But it seemed that Christopher was not a nefarious man with double intentions. Instead, when he focused in on something he unleashed a primal energy and was wholly enraptured with his goal.</p><p>“Christopher-“ he wrapped his arms around Thomas, so that the only thing keeping their faces apart was Thomas leaning back. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest, spurred on by the smell of whisky on Christopher’s breath and that deep need in his eyes. “There’s… another man. I can’t be unfaithful, I won’t be-“</p><p>“S’not being unfaithful,” Christopher was barely speaking, more a breath upon a wind than the words. “It’s weighing your options.”</p><p>And like the scales of justice, Christopher leaned into the weight to add more onto Thomas’ plate.</p><p>His lips were solid, warm, and real; it was a kiss wholly unlike Richard’s, who had had to be quick and needy before Andy had walked past the door. Christopher took a languid pace which seemed to be all the more dangerous, like he didn’t care if they got interrupted or if anyone saw.</p><p>Like Thomas was more important to him than anything in the universe.</p><p>But Thomas couldn’t. Even as the power of Christopher’s kiss pulled him in, the image of Richard flashed past his closed eyelids. That Cheshire like grin twisting out of a darkened smoke in a wonderland where no route was assured.</p><p>Thomas jerked back, breathing heavily. Christopher’s eyes were dilated with lust, and there was an obvious heat between his legs. He pressed Thomas up against the base of a small tree, causing a few leaves to fall down upon their heads.</p><p>“Not here,” Thomas shook his head. “Not like this-“</p><p>“Don’t deny me,” he begged. “Not when I’ve dreamed of this moment for so long. I went to prison for this moment. For the taste of your lips. Last time I was pulled away too soon. Now, I’m finally free to know it.”</p><p>But it had nothing to do with prison. It had everything to do with Richard.</p><p>“He-“</p><p>“Your little fancy man doesn’t have to know about this,” Christopher urged. But there was a bitterness at the edge of his voice, and he was obviously spurned by the unspoken presence of Richard. It was an awful weight between them. “And who knows, you might like me better in the end-“</p><p>“Stop it,” Thomas couldn’t bear to hear such things. Like love was something flippant and easily cast off. Like it were a shirt he could try on for another. “Love isn’t that simple with me, I don’t fall in love like I try on clothes, Christopher.”</p><p>“Then just give a fuckin’ chance,” Christopher begged. “Because I swear to you now I love you more than him-“</p><p>“You don’t even know m-“</p><p>But Christopher would not let him continue. In an effort to seize his chances or be damned, Christopher took Thomas into his arms once again and kissed him so passionately upon the mouth that Thomas was unable to momentarily think.</p><p>Christopher went so far as to even stick his tongue in Thomas’ mouth, which only prompted Thomas to realize just how English he was in his sensibilities.</p><p><em>Has he lost his mind? </em>Thomas wondered, even as Christopher’s pawing hands began to grope towards his bottom. He grabbed at Thomas’ backside, causing Thomas to smack him in the chest.</p><p> </p><p>“Thomas!”</p><p>The pair of them froze, their frantic display on pause as the pair of them listened intently. Beyond the bush, back towards the church, Baxter had walked out with Moseley and was calling for him.</p><p>“Thomas, where are you?” She called. She was close, but not close enough to see them.</p><p>“Go!” Thomas hissed, shoving Christopher deeper into the bush where even the sunlight could not reach him. “Get out of here! Run away, now!”</p><p>Christopher wiped his mouth free of Thomas’ saliva.</p><p>“I’ll be back, sugar,” he promised, and without another word he dipped into the undergrowth to vanish completely. The only thing which betrayed his presence was the soft crunching sound of his feet on the dried autumn leaves.</p><p>Thomas staggered out of the hedge, righting his clothes and trying desperately not to look like he’d just had his ass grabbed by a convicted killer. Baxter spotted him and joined him on the sloping hill, with Moseley trailing at her elbow.</p><p>“There you are,” She smiled. She was a lovely image in her lilac day dress. “We’re heading back to the abbey. Won’t you come with us in the wagon?”</p><p>Thomas looked over his shoulder towards the spot where he’d last seen Christopher. In reflection, the darkened hollow of overgrown thicket seemed almost haunted somehow.</p><p>“Is something wrong?” She asked.</p><p>He turned back to Baxter, who was now slightly wary. He could not blame her; not half an hour ago he’d been in a calmer mood. Now, he must seem panicky and quick to flight.</p><p>“No,” Thomas lied. He took her by the elbow, steering her away from the dense foliage. He did not trust another criminal to not pop out. “Let’s head back home.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The ride back to Downton Abbey was a silent one only punctuated by Moseley regaling Baxter with more inane bullshit while Bates and Thomas drove the cart. In the back, Anna and Johnny were singing songs with one another, but Thomas was immune to all of it. His heart was still pounding in his chest, even as they pulled up to the area yard.</p><p>If Christopher was in Downton, then that surely meant Coyle was close by. Should he tell Baxter, and risk having her in a panic? Or should he keep his methods to himself until he knew more?</p><p>He’d already told Baxter to stay close to the abbey and so far she’d done as he’d asked. Despite being treated like a pariah behind its walls, she had not done anything as risky as run away. If this was an indicator to her moods, then perhaps Thomas could be selfish enough as to hide his knowledge of Christopher’s where abouts. Besides, there was the possibility that Coyle wasn’t even in Downton yet. That he was perhaps trying to round up more men, or even hunting down this ‘Petal’ girl, whoever she was. The worst part was that the family were back from the Dower house, having been kind enough to stop in at the church to give their blessing to Daisy and Andy’s marriage. They had to be tended to, and that left no room for light headedness.</p><p>A Mrs. Pierce had come up from the village, who was apparently the resident cook for the Merton Estate. She would serve as the cook for only one night, giving Mrs. Patmore the time she needed to recuperate from the wedding. Thomas had not said goodbye to Daisy or Andy when he’d left their rehearsal, but he’d heard Mrs. Patmore crying all the way outside the church. It would be a miracle if she were stable enough to stand come tomorrow.</p><p>With the family back in the house, Thomas sat at the downstairs table with his planner out, methodically ticking off boxes of the day’s activities. Every so often, he simply had to stop and gather himself. His thoughts were rampaging inside his head, bouncing off his skull.</p><p>His lips felt inflamed somehow, and he found it ludicrous that no one could tell he’d been snogged at the church. To know that Christopher cared for him so much had burned a hole deep into his heart, re-opening a place he’d not thought about in quite a long time. In nearly fifteen years, if he was honest with himself.</p><p>His finger played with his bottom lip, as if trying to touch the man through his own flesh. The way that Christopher had swung him around the dancefloor of Turpins…. Like they were angels flying through the clouds instead of mere mortals. But at every turn in Thomas’ mind, there was that Cheshire cat grin again.</p><p>That gloved finger touching his lip, and pushing him back to the land of the living.</p><p>“Mr. Barrow?”</p><p>Thomas gave a small start, looking up to find Baxter watching him. He tried to smile, but it was difficult.</p><p>“Will you come with me?” Baxter asked. She gestured, pointing up towards the servant’s stairwell.</p><p>“Certainly, what’s wrong?” Thomas sat his planner aside. “Is somebody bothering you again?”</p><p>“Nothing like that,” She said, though he doubted she was in better company. “I’ve decided to tell the family that I’m to wed Mr. Moseley now that they’re in a receptive mood. They’ll want you there.”</p><p>“Ah.” He rose from his chair and beckoned to Moseley who was relaxing in his old rocker by the fireplace. So exhausted was he from the day’s proceedings that for a moment he simply sat and stared at Thomas with glazed eyes.</p><p>“Moseley,” Thomas snapped. The man jerked, as if from a doze, and stumbled up from his chair.</p><p>“Have I done something wrong, Mr. Barrow?” He asked.</p><p>“No,” Thomas was finding it hard not to be critical of the man, but for Baxter’s sake he kept his temper. “Ms. Baxter wishes to tell the family your news. Perhaps you’d like to be present?”</p><p>“Oh!” Moseley beamed at the concept. “I’d love to!” And sure enough he was up the stairs like a shot leaving behind his prospective bride. Baxter was beginning to laugh; it was the first time in days that Thomas had seen her smile. In a way, it was the only thing that made Moseley’s existence bearable to him.</p><p><em>Listen to you, </em>he heard Richard’s voice in his head, laughing at his bitter attitude. <em>So much snarling. </em></p><p>So up the stairs they went, with Baxter and Moseley now gossiping over their wedding. They passed a day maid, and Thomas noted she shrank physically back from Baxter. But instead of noticing, she was now glad to be planning her future and did not notice.</p><p><em>Well then, </em>Thomas thought. <em>Looks like Moseley does have his uses. </em></p><p>“Soon it’ll our turn,” Moseley said. “Maybe we’ll use less flowers than Andy and Daisy?” He laughed aloud.</p><p>“I’m easy,” Baxter smiled.</p><p>“God, I’m so happy to hear that,” Thomas groaned, opening up the door to the main floor. “This morning was ridiculous.”</p><p>“They were tearing each other apart over flowers,” Moseley explained.</p><p>“But they had so many!” Baxter was surprised, ever the one to have faith in humanity. When would she learn that her coworkers were idiotic? The main hall was quiet in the late hour, with most of the family split between resting in the library or taking a nap before dinner.</p><p>“Apparently it wasn’t enough flowers,” Thomas said. “Do you want them?” Baxter pondered the question for a moment before answering.</p><p>“Well… I suppose to carry,” She shrugged. “But it doesn’t really matter does it. I’m not marrying Mr. Moseley for the flowers.”</p><p>They stopped outside the library door, and for a moment, Thomas simply looked at Baxter and regarded how beautiful and sane she was. How normal and utterly in control of her mental fixations. No screaming and wailing about flowers for her; instead she got married like a sane person and kept her head.</p><p>“God I love you,” Thomas wondered aloud. Baxter grinned, slightly chuffed by his praise.</p><p>Thomas held up a hand to keep Baxter and Moseley out of sight, and then opened the library door to find only a few Crawley’s inside. Lord and Lady Grantham were keeping company with the Dowager, who seemed exhausted and pale (even more so than usual). At the fireplace, Lord Grantham looked deep into the fire and battled with some inner demon that Thomas didn’t give a damn about.</p><p>“Barrow,” Lord Grantham didn’t even look at him when he spoke. At this point in their relationship, the man simply seemed to know when Thomas entered the room. He wondered if the smell of sulfur and the clip clop of his cloven hooves gave him away.</p><p>“How are the staff?” He asked. “Pleased with the day’s proceedings?”</p><p>“We have no complaints, M’lord, but Mrs. Patmore is a little soggy on the subject,” Thomas said.</p><p>“She’s practically Daisy’s mother,” Lady Grantham agreed.</p><p>“We may have to endure sub-par cooking for a few nights,” Lord Grantham joked. Lady Grantham gave a tittering little laugh, the sort that rich women made when they had utterly nothing to worry about or say.</p><p>“As a matter of fact, M’lord, there is more good news to be announced,” Thomas said. Lord Grantham seemed keen for it, “Which is why I’ve intruded.”</p><p>“Oh goody,” The Dowager sounded anything but pleased, as a matter of fact, she looked ready to fall asleep. Maybe she needed to be the one taking a nap instead of Lady Mary. “Another wedding?”</p><p>“… Actually, yes, M’lady,” Thomas was surprised she’d managed to hit the nail on the head.</p><p>The Dowager closed her eyes and lay her ancient head back upon the edge of the chair. “How joyous,” She groaned.</p><p>“Another wedding?” Lady Grantham wondered. “But who? There’s no one left to marry!”</p><p>“Unless you’re referring to yourself,” The Dowager muttered.</p><p>He decided to ignore that comment, and instead re-opened the library door for Baxter and Moseley to enter. The clasped hands and walked forward as a couple. But instead of being greeted with sounds of delight and joy, there was instead only ominous silence.</p><p>Lord Grantham returned to staring at the fire.</p><p>“… I see,” He finally said. Thomas found himself impulsively clenching his teeth, irritated at Baxter’s treatment. What a fine way to treat someone who announced their marriage!</p><p>“Well I won’t say I’m surprised, but this is hardly good news,” Lord Grantham mused.</p><p>“Robert,” Lady Grantham’s placid and docile demeanor had vanished to be replaced with a hard edge that Thomas did not easily recognize.</p><p>The Dowager waved both her son and her daughter in law into silence. “Moseley, I’m glad to hear of your news,” She sat up a little straighter in her chair.</p><p>“Thank you, M’lady,” And while Moseley was polite, he was also tense. Thomas doubted he’d ever been treated so coldly by Lord Grantham before. Perhaps he was hoping for a warmer reception.</p><p>“Will you be staying on, now that you’re to be wed?” Lady Grantham asked Baxter. Baxter was nervous, and when she spoke her voice did not resonate far. The tension was palpable in the room.</p><p>“I don’t know, M’lady,” Baxter murmured. She twisted her hands fretfully. “We haven’t talked about it.”</p><p>“Well, if it’s still up for discussion, I have a few ideas,” Lady Grantham’s eyes were beginning to gleam in a way that did not make Thomas feel comfortable. “Perhaps we could talk about them in private?”</p><p>“Of course, M’lady,” Baxter said.</p><p>“If that’s all that needs to be said, I’d rather have some peace,” Lord Grantham said.</p><p>“… By your leave, M’lord,” Thomas beckoned for Moseley and Baxter to follow. The three of them left the library, and Thomas closed the door so that once more they were alone in the main hall. Away from public eyes, Baxter deflated. She was miserable at her humiliation.</p><p>“Don’t let it bother you,” He urged, and at this he placed a gentle hand upon her shoulder steering her back towards the green baize door in the corner. “Their lot don’t like to get involved with scandal.”</p><p>“How incredibly disappointing,” Moseley wondered.</p><p>“Not to me,” Thomas mused. In the servant’s stairwell they paused upon the banister, talking softly lest they be overhead. “I’ve always known their benevolence was fair weather.”</p><p>In another day and time, Moseley might have disagreed with him. Now, however, faced with the knowledge that his marriage and his wife were unwelcome, Moseley seemed to struggle with what to say.</p><p>“What if she wants to sack me?” Baxter wondered. “Maybe she’ll tell me to leave now that I’ve got an excuse. She’ll try to make me go under the pretense of marriage-“</p><p>“Don’t put ideas into her head,” Thomas warned. “We don’t know what she’s going to say or what she wants.”</p><p>“She might offer us good news!” Moseley tried for optimism. It was poorly placed, but Thomas was appreciative if it kept Baxter from spiraling.</p><p>The sound of footfalls on the stairs made them pause, but it was only Bates and Anna. They were glad to be back in the house, even if only for a short while.</p><p>“There you are!” Anna said. “I was looking for you, Mr. Barrow.”</p><p>Thomas couldn’t imagine why.</p><p>“We just told Lord and Lady Grantham that we’re to be wed,” Moseley said. Anna beamed.</p><p>“How exciting!” She declared.</p><p>“Not exactly,” Thomas warned.</p><p>“They were less than enthusiastic,” Baxter mumbled.</p><p>“Really?” Bates shifted his weight upon his cane. “That’s odd.”</p><p>“Not really, Ms. Baxter is bad news to them now.”</p><p>“They’ll warm up,” Anna assured her. “Don’t worry.” But Baxter was less than convinced. “But I should tell you, Mr. Barrow, a call came for you while you were upstairs. I answered the telephone I hope you don’t mind. They’re waiting for you now.”</p><p>“I don’t mind at all,” Thomas broke rank and began to head for the basement. “Who was it?”</p><p>“Mr. Richard Ellis, the king’s valet,” She said. Thomas’ stomach did a back flip at the name. He’d been so busy with the wedding and Baxter, he’d completely forgotten to speak to Richard. And boy, what a story did he have!</p><p>“Oh-“ Thomas couldn’t help the stutter that fell out of his mouth. Unfortunately, this bluff only made Baxter suspicious.</p><p>“Now why would he be calling?” She asked with a smile. Damn her and her coy attitude! Thomas tried to glower at her, but it didn’t work. She was immune to his stares by now.</p><p>“I’m amazed any of that lot would want to be reminded of their time here,” Moseley said with a laugh.</p><p>“We never had a problem with the valet,” Anna reminded him. “The rest of them, though…” She did not finish her sentence, but to be fair she didn’t really need to. It would be difficult to forget just how wretched that whole affair had been, even with Richard’s warm presence.</p><p>“Still,” Baxter leaned onto the railing, and smiled down at Thomas as he tried to walk away. “It makes you wonder what he’s calling for.”</p><p>“Goodbye,” Thomas refused to even deign her thought with an answer. The more he gave her, the more she would undoubtedly tease him.</p><p> </p><p>He walked a little too quickly down the stairs to be natural, his heels clicking upon the floor as he scooted into his office and shut the door. Sure enough, the telephone was off its hook and laying face down upon his desk. He sat down in his chair, picked up the phone, and closed his eyes.</p><p>In the dark of his own mind, Thomas kept company with a Cheshire cat.</p><p>“Richard,” Thomas let out a long sigh, rubbing his tired eyes. “I’m so sorry, I was dealing with issues. I’ve been meaning to call you for the past couple of days, but I never got a second to myself-“</p><p><em>“Don’t worry about that,” </em>Richard scoffed. <em>“I’m the idiot for not seeing the papers until now! My mother called and asked me if I’d read about what was going on. I had to go searching all through London to find the paper, but when I did I panicked.” </em>Funny, it was hard to imagine Richard of all people panicking.</p><p>“I should have called,” Thomas said. “But… everything went insane.” He slouched in his chair, fiddling with the buttons upon the front of his livery.</p><p><em>“How’s she doing?” </em>Richard asked. At first, Thomas wondered who he was speaking about, but then he realized Richard must be referring to Baxter. It was strange that he should remember her name. After all, he’d only been at Downton for three days.</p><p>“Ms. Baxter? I thought you wouldn’t remember he name.”</p><p><em>“Course I remember her,” </em>and he sounded a bit insulted that Thomas might think otherwise. <em>“She’s your best friend.” </em>It made Thomas smile, to know that Richard cared so intimately about the details of his life. <em>“Is she alright? I’d be scared to death if I was her.” </em></p><p>“I think she’s trying to take it one day at a time,” he mused. “I’ll tell her you send her your good wishes.”</p><p>
  <em>“Please do. D’you think he’s coming?” </em>
</p><p>After today’s run in with Christopher, there could be no denying that Coyle was near. “…Yes I do.”</p><p>
  <em>“Fuck.” </em>
</p><p>“Indeed.”</p><p>
  <em>“So, anything else?” </em>
</p><p>“Well, two co-workers go married today,” Thomas said. He wondered if the irritation showed in his voice.</p><p>
  <em>“You sound real jolly about that. Boring?” </em>
</p><p>“Far from it,” He scoffed. Christ, if only it had been boring! “The priest was an ass to me all day long, he even made a point to spout quotes from the bible at me about how I’ll be burning in hell soon enough.”</p><p><em>“What a feckin moron,” </em>he cursed. <em>“Don’t worry we’ll get even with him soon enough.” </em>Now that was good news if ever Thomas had heard of it. Oh what fun it would be to get even with the priest!</p><p>Thomas found himself curling up in his chair, like he was reading a story book instead of talking to a man on the phone.</p><p>“Richard…” He thought of Christopher, and the conversation they’d had in the hedge. “There’s something I ought to tell you-“</p><p><em>“Wait before you do,” </em>Richard urged. <em>“I actually wanted to call and talk to you about something important.” </em></p><p>“Important?”</p><p><em>“I’m telling the king tonight,” </em>Richard said. <em>“I’m leaving his service, and returning to Yorkshire.” </em></p><p>Thomas’ heart skipped a beat, and then two more. He felt his stomach begin to twist in knots, his mouth suddenly quite dry. Why was he so terrified of such wonderful news? Was it because good things rarely happened to him?</p><p><em>Christ, don’t cock it up, </em>He thought.</p><p>“Really?” He sounded like an utter girl, all breathless and dreamy on the phone. He wished he could kick himself. “But… but why-“</p><p><em>“You know why,” </em>Richard said, and indeed Thomas knew exactly why. It still amazed him to hear it though. To imagine, they might be close enough to meet often! To go for lunch or take walks at the end of the day. The idea was truly wonderful.</p><p><em>“Listen, I want to work at Downton,” </em>Richard said. <em>“Do you think you could help me find a position?” </em></p><p>He closed his eyes, practically on the edge of tears. Why was he close to weeping now, when the news only kept getting better and better?</p><p>The idea of Richard working at Downton was more than Thomas could bear. For a moment, he could not speak, and was so overwhelmed with emotion he wondered if he might start crying.</p><p> </p><p>“Richard don’t say things like that unless you mean it,” Thomas had to pause to sniff. His nostrils were growing wet; he whipped out a handkerchief and immediately dried them for decency’s sake.</p><p><em>“Course I mean it,” </em>Richard said, and he spoke so earnestly that Thomas could not help but believe him though he was sure that made him a damn fool. <em>“Look, you’re a clever boy. Think of something to tell the others when I show up. Say, I don’t know, I’m coming home to be closer to my parents. It’s partly the truth.” </em></p><p>“And the other part?” He croaked, wiping his nose again.</p><p><em>“I should think you already know that,” </em>And damn it all if Richard wasn’t being an insufferable flirt.</p><p>But the question that burned inside him, the fear that damned his every step when he got close to happiness, was threatening him once again. He could not in good conscience allow Richard to throw away this sort of job and position in society, all for the love of him.</p><p>“Richard, listen to me,” Thomas begged, even as he damned the words coming out of his fat mouth. “you’re the valet to the King of England, you have a position in society, a good job with good pay. By coming here, you’d ruin yourself. You’d lose everything-“</p><p><em>“You’re trying to fob me off, you think I’m making a mistake,” </em>Richard said. <em>“But I’m not, and I won’t be shaken. I don’t give a damn whose piss pot I drain in the morning, it’s still a piss pot. And if I’m going to be stuck with some miserable old gaffer for the rest of my working life, I’d rather be able to do it in a house where someone I love works too. Don’t you?” </em></p><p>And damn him if he did…</p><p>“Yes…” He whispered. “But you only knew me for three days and-“</p><p><em>“Three days with you meant more to me than the past ten years with the King of England,” </em>Richard said. <em>“And I’ll be damned if I don’t get three more days with you before I die. Look for me soon, I’ll be there by the end of the week. I have to go.” </em></p><p>“… I’ll wait,” Thomas said.</p><p>Richard hung up the phone.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Sitting in the servant’s hall, Thomas hid in his favorite chair away from the world and stared into the embers of a dying fireplace. He really ought to add another log, but he couldn’t summon up the strength.</p><p>He couldn’t summon up much of anything, at the moment.</p><p>The weight of the day was pressing in upon Thomas so tightly that he thought at any moment he might pop. Where before he might have been utterly enraptured by Travis’ ugly comments, now he was completely torn between two men and their opposing views on the world. In one corner, he could think of nothing but Richard and how he was now apparently going to quit his job to be with Thomas.</p><p><em>Look for me soon, </em>he’d said.</p><p>But then, in the other corner, was Christopher. A man so in love with Thomas that he’d apparently shot seven policeman and escaped jail just for the hope and prayer of seeing him again.</p><p><em>I’ll be back, </em>he’d sworn.</p><p>Never before in all his life had Thomas been put into such an awful position, with two men competing for his affections. This seemed like something more suited for Lady Mary.</p><p>Christopher seemed to be the sort of person that Thomas wished he was. He was free, he didn’t live by society’s constrictions. At the same time, however, he had a dark and dangerous edge to him that sometimes made Thomas nervous. He wondered if the roughness of life had worn him thin around the edges, but then again hadn’t it done the same for Thomas too? Maybe in a way they were all damaged, just on varying levels.</p><p>But Richard didn’t seem damaged, at least not to Thomas. He seemed so much more… put together. In control. So why then was he so compelling to Thomas? Why did he so often find himself thinking about that Cheshire grin, or the way it had felt to walk side by side with him in the moonlight? Looking at Richard was like looking into a mirror. It was almost nepotism, in a way. After a lifetime of being alone, suddenly there was someone who understood completely.</p><p>And, beyond all, Thomas could not bear to lose that.</p><p>“… Mr. Barrow.” He jerked a bit, looking around in his seat to see Baxter in the door to the hall. She was watching him, apprehensive. “Are you alright? You look odd.”</p><p>“Do I?” He coughed, rubbing at his nose with his handkerchief before putting it up again.</p><p>“You’re flushed,” She sat down next to him at the table. In the dark of night, the pair of them were like ghosts haunting their eventual graves.</p><p>Thomas felt at his cheeks, and noted the heat that lay there. Damn his sensibilities! “So I am.”</p><p>Sensing that he did not wish to continue on the topic, Baxter turned the conversation towards herself. “I just put her ladyship to bed. She spoke with me about her idea. I was right, but not entirely.” Something in the way she said it made Thomas wonder if the conversation had been difficult to endure.</p><p>“Oh goody,” He muttered. He dug in his vest for a cigarette and lit it with an ember from the fireplace. He offered a fag to Baxter who politely declined. This was their ritual. He offered, she turned him down, he smoked both the cigarettes.</p><p>“She’s thinking of taking on another lady’s maid after I’m wed. But she’s actually wondering if Mrs. Hughes will want to retire so that I can become housekeeper. She asked me to ask you?”</p><p>Now that wasn’t all too bad! Mrs. Hughes was getting on, it was true, and if Baxter took over her role, she and Thomas could work closer. But the question was, would Mrs. Hughes want to pass on the torch?</p><p>“Well… that’s not so much of a stretch,” Thomas said. “I’ll ask her tomorrow. Would you like to be housekeeper though?”</p><p>“I’d like to be with you and Mr. Moseley,” She said, hands laced upon the tabletop. “The rest doesn’t bother me much.”</p><p>He smiled; tonight had been rather full of fortune when it came to people showing him kindness and love. From feast to famine, he was spoiled for choice.</p><p>“I don’t know how I’ll get the maids to respect me though,” She wondered.</p><p>“I’ll hire new ones,” Thomas said.</p><p>“Don’t be silly.”</p><p>“I’m not.” Thomas took a long drag of his cigarette, feeling quite accomplished. “I’m just petty….” But now that he had Baxter on her own, and no one was listening, Thomas realized that this was the perfect opportunity to ask her about Christopher’s peculiar information regarding a woman nicknamed ‘petal’. But the question was, how to ask? Thomas cast a glance over his shoulder, and noted that both Mr. Bates and Mr. Moseley were still elbow deep in mundane conversation in the kitchen.</p><p>He kept his voice down, and scooted closer to Baxter so that they could talk without interruption.</p><p>“Listen,” He murmured, “I have something I need to talk to you about. Don’t ask me how I know what I know, or who told me. And if it’s not true, then forget it altogether.”</p><p>“Okay,” She looked rightly nervous and he couldn’t blame her. “That’s slightly terrifying, but go on.”</p><p>“Did you ever have a nickname?” He asked.</p><p>Whatever she was expecting, it wasn’t that. For a moment, Thomas’ peculiar question seemed to throw Baxter through a loop to where she simply just sat and stared at him.</p><p>“…Like…” She fished for an answer but had none forthcoming, “In school?”</p><p>“No,” Thomas said.</p><p>For a moment, Phyllis seemed torn between denying any and all instances, and simply coming clean. Internally, she weighed up what she could rightfully tell Thomas without going any further into her sordid past, but seemed to find the path a slippery one. He hated how bitter her tone turned, as she bowed her head in shame.</p><p>“…How did you know about that?” She finally grit out.</p><p><em>She hasn’t said it’s Petal, </em>Thomas thought, though internally his heart was beginning to skip beats again. <em>It could be that he gives names to everyone. Isn’t that what Christopher said? </em></p><p>“It’s complicated,” Thomas said. “I can’t tell you without… well…” He thought of Christopher, and how sweetly he’d kissed Thomas inside that overgrown hedge. “Without my heart aching.”</p><p>“Aching?” The more that Thomas spoke, the more that Baxter seemed to lose her footing. “What do you mean aching?”</p><p>Unable to look her in the eye, Thomas responded, “There were several names in that article, Ms. Baxter. Let’s just leave it at that.”</p><p>The realization began to dawn upon her that she was not the only one with secrets at the table. For a moment, she had to compose herself, though it was clear that she desperately wanted to know more. She seemed afraid for him somehow, which was ludicrous because he was not the one in mortal danger here.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, I had a nickname.”</p><p>“What was it?” Thomas asked, praying to God that she would say anything but ‘Petal’. Anything at all. Christ, her nickname could have been ‘Bellend’ and he wouldn’t mind.</p><p>“Petal,” She said. Thomas was unable to keep from physically cringing as he withdrew back into his chair. In Thomas’ head, he could hear Christopher’s warning, <em>“he went on and on about this one dame while we were locked up together. I mean… ranting. Raving.”</em></p><p>So it seemed that his worst fears had been confirmed.</p><p>“Shit-“ Thomas could not keep from cursing aloud. He laid back in his chair, and simply let the horror wash over him. What in the name of god was he to do now? He let a hand drape over his mouth and nervously played at his bottom lip. When he glanced at Baxter, he found her seriously disturbed.</p><p>“What will you do now?” She asked.</p><p>“Interrogate someone,” Thomas said. As soon as he got a chance to find Christopher again, he was going to demand a million answers. The more he knew about Coyle’s plan, the more he could protect Baxter. On this subject, he would accept nothing but the absolute truth. He could not afford to let his one friend be taken from him.</p><p>“A criminal that broke out with him?” Baxter asked.</p><p>Thomas nodded, unwilling to say much more out loud when Bates and Moseley were only so far away and rambling on about cricket techniques.</p><p>But far from being satisfied with this answer, Baxter grew more distressed. Despite their relationship never being solidly physical, she reached out and grabbed his forearm to hold it tight with both hands like this act might somehow get him to take her more serious.</p><p>“Thomas, it scares me to death to think that you’re getting involved with this, “She said. Her eyes were burning with desperation, searching his face for some kind of sign that he was listening to her. “Please, I’m begging you, whoever the man is, don’t go near him. Don’t let Coyle know you’re involved with me or you’ll be killed-“</p><p>“What did I say before?” Thomas carefully unlaced her hand from his arm. “I know how to handle these sorts of people, leave it to me. Your main concern is your wedding, and Moseley not throwing up at the alter.”</p><p>But she wasn’t amused. If anything, she only got more upset.</p><p>“Thomas if something happened to you, I’d never forgive myself!” Her voice was rising in volume, and now they were dangerously close to drawing in the attention of others. Thomas leaned in, speaking softly in an attempt to keep her quiet.</p><p>“Ms. Baxter, it’s alright. Honestly, there’s nothing scarier than me in this county-“</p><p>But she could no longer stand to sit and listen to him flippantly dismiss her fears. Jerking from her chair, she began to berate him, yelling at him from the top of her voice with tears sparkling in the corners of her beautiful brown eyes. Thomas shrank back in his chair, scandalized to be yelled at by the one woman he held beyond all others.</p><p>“Yes there is!” She shouted. At the kitchen door, Moseley poked his head out to see what was going on. Bates was right over his shoulder.</p><p>“There absolutely is-!” She paced back and forth for a second, seething with frustration, “Why can’t I make you understand that Coyle is more dangerous than you?! You like to think that you’re so evil, that you’re so mean and difficult, but all you are is damaged!” And at the word, she pointed a bitter finger to his face. For all the venom in it, she could have easily just as well slapped him.</p><p>Thomas opened his mouth to rebuke it, but she just kept shouting. “No! You listen to me now, because I am sick and tired of being talked down to on the subject! Everyone’s so keen to lace me up as black as him, well why won’t you listen to me when I try to explain to you what sort of man he is?! He’s bad, bad to his very core-!” She ground the words out, almost growling them like an animal to strain their essence. “And the minute he gets his hands on you, you’ll die! Do you hear me?!” she shrieked. “You’re going to die!”</p><p>Thomas clambered out of his seat, reaching out to take her by the upper arms. She jerked out of his grip. “Calm down,” He urged, “Just calm down and think-“</p><p>“You’re not listening to me-“</p><p>“No one’s going to die-“</p><p>“We’re all going to die!” She corrected, gesturing wildly from herself, to Thomas, to Bates, to Moseley. “And it’ll all by my fault, do you understand?! It’ll all be my fault!”</p><p>This conversation had gone horribly wrong, and Thomas didn’t know what to do to fix it. Baxter stormed off, leaving Thomas gaping in distress.</p><p>“Wait!” He called out, half making to follow her until Moseley cut him off and ran after her instead.</p><p>“I’ll talk to her,” He assured, and swiftly vanished from sight down the area hallway. Now Bates and Thomas were left alone, neither of them knowing rightly what to say.</p><p>Inwardly furious at himself, Thomas cast the rest of his cigarette into the fireplace and headed up the stairs to go to bed. It felt like an age for him to drag himself up the stairs.</p><p>As he reached the top, Thomas staggered forward in the semi-darkness to take sanctuary in his room. It had seen him defeated in many forms, and its countertops were painted with a thin layer of his miseries.</p><p> </p><p>He slumped down onto his bed and fell on his side.</p><p>He’d not felt this miserable since last July.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Death of an Era</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The abbey's residents are flipped upside down with an unexpected (and yet expected) event. Meanwhile, Carson gets under Thomas' skin and Christopher sheds light on the madness of Peter Coyle.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>warnings for this chapter include <b>cursing</b> and quite a lot of it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The exhaustion of Daisy and Andy’s wedding slid into a dark and dreary night. Unable to reconcile himself with his argument with Baxter, Thomas fell asleep quickly but unhappily. In his dreams, he shifted from one uneasy vision to another. First, he was getting married to a sheep and he seemed to be the only one who had a problem with it. His bride to be was too busy eating grass to be bothered with putting on her veil and Mrs. Hughes was crying in delirious happiness. Then he dreamt that he was having to talk to Andy about how to have sex with Daisy, which was incredibly awkward. Andy kept asking him questions about ‘where to put it’, and unfortunately Thomas couldn’t get himself up to saying the word ‘vagina’, so instead he blathered on with ‘you know’ and ‘down there’, until Andy began to cry from unhappiness. Finally he dreamed that Baxter was yelling at him for some reason or another, and yet with each curse she yelled the more large she became, until Thomas was struggling with a giant Baxter who was smiting him with her thumb.</p><p> </p><p>This dream was ended by the sound of knocking, which Thomas’ delirious mind interpreted as Baxter smacking him into the floor with her massive shoe.</p><p> </p><p>Thomas jerked awake.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>For a moment he simply lay there, partly convinced that he’d dreamed the noise. But when the knocking commenced again, Thomas sat up in bed and threw back the covers.</p><p>The knocking came a third time. He could hear crying from beyond the door. Now a slight panic was beginning to creep into his heart. No good could come of crying and knocking when it was… (he glanced at his bedside clock) two in the morning.</p><p>Without even making to put on his robe, Thomas unlocked and opened his bedroom door. Beyond it, enshrouded in the darkened hall, he found a pale and teary Lady Mary clad in nothing but her night gown. She looked utterly distraught, her normally haughty face upturned in misery.</p><p>“Lady Mary-“ Thomas snatched his robe from a wall hook, throwing it on to hurriedly do up his belt. He pushed his hair out of his face, only for it to flop back down again. “What’s happened?”</p><p>She drew in a breath, sniffed, swallowed, breathed again, and finally spoke in a voice so soft and tremulous that one gust of wind might scatter it away.</p><p>“My grandmother is dead,” She whispered.</p><p>Thomas stared, momentarily unsure exactly what she meant. But then, it occurred to him slowly that there could be only one understanding of the sentence. What it meant, in the days ahead for him, would be a nightmare of preparations, activity, and family mourning.</p><p>“Are you certain?” Thomas whispered back.</p><p>“I… I think so,” and she swallowed again, around a knot in her throat, “I’m unsure. Will you come check?”</p><p>“Yes of course,” She didn’t even have to ask. Thomas shut his bedroom door and lead the way downstairs with Lady Mary close to his tail. The Dowager had been put to sleep that night in the blue room, her common haunting spot when she came to stay. They descended the servant’s stairwell to the gallery floor in total silence, both quite aware of the weight of the situation they now found themselves in. For a moment, the world of Downton Abbey lay in a fragile bubble of peace. Every person who would need to be informed, who would grieve, who would have their life changed by this event was still asleep. It would be Thomas to wake them, to begin the whole process, and it put a serious weight upon his shoulders. It was one that he was well equipped to carry after years of servitude. He’d known this was coming. The Dowager was ancient, having turned ninety this past year. She’d already put documents together for her desired funeral arrangements. He’d carry it out with the dignity she deserved, but he’d be quite happy when this headache was put to bed.</p><p>Or to rest, rather.</p><p>They reached the blue room. Thomas opened the door to find the bedside light on. There, frail and curled upon the bed like a little bird, was the Dowager. Her white hair was spilling upon her hollowed neck, her eyes sunk deep into her face with purpled bags. Her lips were deep blue from lack of oxygen. Lady Mary clung to one of the banisters of her four-poster bed, hiding her face as Thomas carefully sat down on the side of the bed. He caught her eye and held it as he checked the Dowager’s withered neck for a pulse.</p><p>They sat there in complete silence for a full minute. Thomas even closed his eyes, momentarily focusing entirely upon the act of feeling for a heartbeat.</p><p>None came.</p><p>He sighed, letting his hand drop from the Dowager’s neck. He stood back up, walked over to the wall, and turned on the overhead lights so that the room was now basked in a golden glow.</p><p>Lady Mary seemed to realize just what this meant. She staggered and slumped down, taking the spot Thomas had just abandoned. She curled her hand around the Dowager’s cold one, letting it fall into her lap so that she could play with the waxen white skin.</p><p>“… I came in to check on her,” Lady Mary said. “She’d said she was feeling poorly when she went to bed. I just felt that something was amiss. I suppose I was right.” Her voice sounded hollow and dead with the realization of her knowing.</p><p>“She went in her sleep. Many aren’t that lucky. It was peaceful, she felt nothing.” Thomas finally replied. Every word he spoke was with care. He and Lady Mary shared a peculiar relationship, one of understanding and parallel existence. He supposed, if he’d been a member of the upstairs, she might have understood him best. At the same time, she’d been the first to throw him under the bus during the royal visit and had been nothing but a busy body sticking her nose where it didn’t belong. She’d gone running to Carson like a dog with her tail between her legs, only to have Carson fudge up just as he’d done.</p><p>In short, he both liked and detested her. </p><p>“I don’t know how to tell Papa,” Lady Mary sniffed. “He’ll be heartbroken.” She fetched the Dowager’s own handkerchief from the bedside table, using it to dry the underside of her eyes. “Will you do it?”</p><p>This really wasn’t his place. She ought, by rights, to be the one to wake the family. But Thomas, as her butler, could refuse her nothing (particularly now in a moment of grief).</p><p>“I’ll do it, M’lady,” He said. As he walked to the door, he heard Lady Mary speak up again.</p><p>“She always liked me best, you know,” And when Thomas looked around, Lady Mary added. “I don’t know why. I don’t even like me best.”</p><p>Well… he couldn’t help her there. He was unfortunately in the same boat.</p><p>In a sense of comradery, Thomas took the Dowager’s silk housecoat and offered it to Lady Mary, draping it around her slim pale shoulders so that she could gather a bit of warmth from it.</p><p>“We never do,” Thomas advised. As he turned to go, Lady Mary called out to him. Perhaps she felt a bit sorry for the way she’d behaved before.</p><p>“Barrow-“ He paused at the door, and looked back to find Lady Mary no longer clutching her grandmother’s hand. Instead, she was watching him pensively, perhaps slightly detached from her grief. This was the English way, to ignore your grief until you were in private so you could tear your hair out like a lady.</p><p>“Thank you,” She said. “I appreciate tonight, and what you’ve said. I really do.”</p><p>He could throw it back in her face and remind her of how she’d treated him during the Royal Visit, but that didn’t seem right when they were keeping company with a dead body and it was two in the morning. That level of pettiness was more acceptable in the light of day when someone wasn’t dead.</p><p>“Stay here,” Thomas said.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He left Lady Mary and the Dowager and walked down the eastern hall to the very far end where Lord and Lady Grantham kept their chambers. He paused before the door, realizing the weight of the news he was about to bring to them. The fact that, as of this moment, Lord Grantham’s world was still serene and calm. He still had a living parent. He still wasn’t an orphan.</p><p>In that moment, Thomas could not help but think of his own mother and father, and how the last time he’d seen both he’d been thirteen years old. He did not know if either of them were living now. He did not want to think about it.</p><p>Instead of knocking, Thomas opened the door. He found the chambers darkened and peaceful. Lady Grantham and Lord Grantham were slumbering quietly in their bed, with Tiaa between them. The dog was the first to wake, and she did so with a whine and a yawn. She even stood up in bed, her four legs putting sharp holes into the Grantham’s fluffy duvet cover. Her movement woke Lord Grantham, who rolled about. Thomas walked forward and carefully touched Lord Grantham on the shoulder; it woke the man with a slight start.</p><p>“M’lord,” Thomas greeted him. At once, he sat up in bed, fishing for the light. So groggy was he that he could not turn it on; Thomas did it for him, their fingers brushing in the darkness in a peculiarly intimate fashion.</p><p>“Barrow?!” In the now blinding light, Lord Grantham was dazed. Next to him, Lady Grantham gave a tiny pitiful noise of confusion and rolled over to sit up too. Her brown hair was an utter mess about her aging face.</p><p>“M’lord, Lady Mary has just come and woken me.” Thomas began.</p><p>“What time is it-“ There was panic in his voice. He snatched up his clock from his bedside table to see that it was now 2:30 in the morning. He then looked at Thomas, afraid. “Tell me what’s happened.”</p><p>Lady Grantham pushed her hair out of her face, on tenterhooks.</p><p>“…the Dowager-“ But that didn’t seem right. She wasn’t the Dowager, not to Lord Grantham. “Your mother has passed.”</p><p>For a moment, just like Thomas, Lord Grantham seemed to have difficulty understanding what on earth Thomas meant by ‘your mother has passed’ despite there being only one logical conclusion to draw. Then, a wave of horror and grief washed over his aged face. The tears in his eyes were un-English, un-civilized, and were not meant for Thomas to see.</p><p>“Lady Mary went to check on her and found that she’d gone,” Thomas explained. “She’s with her right now in the Blue Room. I’m going to call Grisby’s… I’m going to call everybody really. Whenever you’re ready head to her room. I’ll alert the staff and call Lady Edith and Lady Rosamund.”</p><p>He’d expected someone to say ‘thank you Barrow’. Instead, Lord Grantham began to whimper and bowed his graying head. Thomas would not stay to watch this, not when it made him incredibly uncomfortable. He was not Carson, nor Bates. He had no attachment to this family. They were his paycheck, nothing more, and he did not like being drug into their heightened moments. It was fun to gossip about, but getting emotionally involved? That was something Thomas wasn’t interested in. After so many years of enjoying the gossip of the Crawley family, he’d now grown cold to their affairs. Let them drown in their own sins, he’d decided. He had enough problems of his own.</p><p>Thomas went downstairs to the telephone which sat in the main hall of the abbey. Seldom used save for the family, it seemed the best place to keep an ear out for the blue room while making the necessary calls. First, he called Grisby and Sons, the local mortician, who despite being asleep at home was still quick to answer the phone and assure Thomas he was coming over. Maybe, given his career, the man was unbothered by being awoken at two in the morning. The second call that Thomas made was to Hexam Castle, to inform Lady Edith that her grandmother had passed. In fact, who he actually ended up informing was the hall boy (who was closest to the phone, sleeping in the basement) who then went to wake up his butler. The butler, in turn, promised to wake Lady Edith and ensure that she speedily returned home. The third call Thomas made was to Lady Rosamund in London. She picked up the phone rather quickly, which unnerved him. He had to wonder if she kept a phone by her bedside to constantly stay in the ever-flowing loop of gossip that was London high life. This was his first taste of grief from the Crawley family, and it involved Lady Rosamund hanging up the phone on him. This, unlike Lord Grantham’s tears, seemed more English and acceptable. If she wanted to cry, that was her own affair, but Thomas didn’t want to hear it.</p><p>As Thomas was in the process of calling the Dower house to wake up Spratt, he noticed a shadow encroaching out of the corner of his eye. He looked to find Branson in his dressing gown, who seemed wary to approach.</p><p>“Who have you called?” Branson asked, rubbing sleep out of his bagged eyes.</p><p>“Grisby’s, Lady Edith, Lady Rosamund. I’m about to call Spratt, “Thomas made to put the phone up to his ear, only to have Branson interrupt again.</p><p>“Will you also call Lady Bagshaw? She’ll want to know.” He said. Thomas rolled his eyes, giving a jerk of a head to satisfy as a nod.</p><p>“Are you going to inform the staff?” Branson asked. Thomas jerked the phone away from his ear, irritated.</p><p>“Yes, obviously,” he said, “Not like I can bloomin well keep a dead body secret from them now can I.”</p><p>“Could you act a little kinder, for god’s sake, she’s only been dead twenty minutes,” Branson complained.</p><p>Thomas sent him a withering look which made the man give pause. He gestured with the telephone to silently say ‘I’m in the middle of something’. Annoyed, Branson waved him off and left, returning upstairs where a cacophony of wailing and crying could now be heard.</p><p>“Will I tell the staff,” Thomas mocked under his breath, jerking the rotary dial with his finger. “Honestly, the sod.”</p><p>The call to Spratt was a little more sobering, simply because the man’s employment hinged on the Dowager’s existence. He seemed aged when Thomas told him the news, and for the first time that night Thomas found himself feeling genuinely sorry.</p><p>“If there’s anything I can do-“ Thomas tried to say.</p><p><em>“This isn’t your problem,” </em>Spratt replied. <em>“I’ll be over promptly. I won’t tell the witch till morning.” </em></p><p>No prizes to be given out for who the ‘witch’ in question was.</p><p>Despite Branson’s request, he did not immediately seek to call Lady Bagshaw. She was a cousin, and if rumors were to be believed she’d never fully gotten on with the Dowager. He’d call her in the morning, and would leave it at that.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Deciding that it was time to tell the staff (certainly before Grisby arrived), Thomas headed to the green baize door and took it all the way up to the servant’s quarters. Here, the sound of wailing was muted to be replaced with a cool comforting silence. Thomas re-fastened the belt of his house robe (it was beginning to slip) and knocked on the door of Albert. He was the only other man besides Moseley living on the men’s side now.</p><p>The door opened to reveal his lone hall boy, tousle haired and utterly confused.</p><p>“Mr. Barrow?” Albert croaked, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “What time is it, sir?”</p><p>“There’s been an incident,” Thomas spoke gently, he’d always had a slight fondness for the lad, given that he was thirteen and clueless. He had that naïve innocence about him that William Mason had once possessed. “Go downstairs and wait for me in the hall.”</p><p>“Am I in trouble sir?” He asked.</p><p>“Not at all,” Thomas said. Without another word, Albert shucked on his worn slippers and pulled on his housecoat to trudge for the stairs. Next was Moseley.</p><p>Thomas knocked on the door, and when it opened Moseley was surprisingly in his day clothes. He looked odd though and kept rubbing his neck as if it were sore. Thomas was also surprised to see his desk lamp was on.</p><p>“Sorry bout the light, fell asleep at my desk,” Moseley said. It seemed there was a stack of papers to be graded.</p><p>“Nothing about that,” Thomas said. “Head downstairs there’s been a bit of an incident.”</p><p>“Is it Coyle?”</p><p>“The Dowager,” Thomas corrected. Moseley’s mouth made a perfect ‘O’ as comprehension dawned upon him. He then hissed, in consolation for the Crawley’s.</p><p>“Is she…?”</p><p>“Afraid so.”</p><p>“Blimey, well that’ll be our week, won’t it?”</p><p>“Unfortunately. Head downstairs and I’ll wake the women.”</p><p>So off Moseley went, his suspenders banging about his knees and his balding hair a mess over his face.</p><p>The woman’s side of the hall was still traditionally locked, but Thomas had a spare key in his room. He fetched it and opened the offending door to find the hall just as dark and quiet as the men’s. He knocked on Mrs. Patmore’s door, and when she opened it he gave her a small smile.</p><p>Her hair was quite long, in a braided loop down to her sagging breasts.</p><p>“Thomas?” She murmured, not yet quite awake. “What’s happened? Is something wrong?”</p><p>“Wake the women and come downstairs to the hall,” Thomas explained. “We’ve had a death.”</p><p>Mrs. Patmore’s eyes widened to the size of coins. “By heck!” She whispered in horror. “Who?!”</p><p>“The Dowager,” Thomas said.</p><p>Mrs. Patmore looked ready to cry. She touched her breastbone, tears welling up in her eyes.</p><p>“How terrible,” she said. “She was such a wonderful woman.”</p><p>But the Dowager wouldn’t have given half a damn if Mrs. Patmore had died, and Thomas wasn’t about to romanticize her just because she was dead.</p><p>“As I say,” Thomas tipped his head, and handed Mrs. Patmore the key to the woman’s hall. “Lock the door when you come down.”</p><p>She sniffed, took the key, then began to dress in her housecoat. Thomas did not stay to chit chat.</p><p>He went downstairs, yawning enormously. The lights were still off, with poor Albert sitting in the dark in the servant’s hall with his head on the table. Moseley was in the kitchen, searching through the cupboards for something. Thomas turned on the light, and carefully jiggled Albert by the shoulder to wake him up. The poor boy moaned into the wood.</p><p>“Fine then,” Thomas said. “but the others are coming.”</p><p>Albert did not reply. Thomas did not press him on the subject.</p><p>He went to his office and took up his own telephone to dial two more numbers. He could not rightly valet for Lord Grantham during a funeral. Thus, Thomas called for the Bates, and woke them from a dead sleep. He needed Andy and Daisy but could not bear to wake them on their wedding night (hell he had an ugly feeling they weren’t even asleep, the lucky bastards). He decided to instead give them as much time as possible and would only call for them if he absolutely needed them. As for Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes, he’d wait till the morning. They were old, they needed their sleep, and there was no point waking them when Mrs. Hughes would be up in three hours anyways.</p><p>When he finished, Thomas headed to the servant’s hall to find it packed with exhausted and confused co-workers. Moseley was back from the kitchen and had a cold rag on the back of his neck as if to ease a crick of pain.</p><p>“I won’t drag this out,” Thomas said. “I know you’re tired. The Dowager has passed away this evening, so we’ll be having to deal with that for the next couple of days.”</p><p>Baxter gasped, a hand coming up to her mouth. She looked to Mrs. Patmore, who seemed ready to cry again. Gertie, the lone kitchen maid, was horrified. Her bottom lip quivered dangerously.</p><p>“I keep thinking it’s a nightmare,” Mrs. Patmore sniffed.</p><p>This was by no means a nightmare, though he did honestly want to get back to bed. No chance of that, tonight!</p><p>“As I say, it was uneventful and peaceful. She went in her sleep. We can’t ask for much more than that,” It seemed that even in death, the old dame had been privileged.</p><p>At his words, Mrs. Patmore began to cry. Despite the fact that for the past couple of days Baxter had been treated like a pariah, she still reached out to comfort her. Wrapping her arms about Mrs. Patmore’s shaking shoulders, she soothed her as best she could.</p><p>“She lived a wonderful life,” Baxter whispered. “And it was her time. And we’ll send her off with all the majesty she deserves.”</p><p>Mrs. Patmore blubbered, her face buried in her hands.</p><p>“Look, let’s not rake over the rest now, “Thomas said, glancing to the mantel clock. It was now 3:15 in the morning. “Go back to bed, and we’ll handle it in a few hours. Grisby’s are on their way, so I’ll take care of that.”</p><p>“What?” Mrs. Patmore hiccupped, lifting her muddied face to stare at Thomas reproachfully. “How can we go to sleep now?”</p><p>“Mrs. Patmore, you need your sleep. You all do, you especially Albert and Gertie,” Thomas warned, for as the hall boy and kitchen maid, a great deal of the grunt work often fell to them.</p><p>“But… but the family need us,” Mrs. Patmore said.</p><p>“Fine-“ he wasn’t about to argue with her. “Stay up. But I’m ordering Albert and Gertie to go back to bed immediately. We’ll wake you in a few hours. Now off you go.”</p><p>Both went rather sheepishly, though they did seem slightly grateful. Poor Albert nearly tripped over his house shoes as he mounted the stairs, too tired to navigate them properly. But despite this act of generosity, it seemed that Mrs. Patmore was not satisfied.</p><p>“Have you called the others?” She asked.</p><p>“Bates and Anna are on their way,” Thomas said. “I’m letting Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes sleep till morning. They’ll be up in a few hours anyways and there isn’t much for them to do. As for Andy and Daisy, I’m not bothering them until I strictly need them.”</p><p>“But they loved her!” Mrs. Patmore said. “They need to know she’s died, for god’s sake!”</p><p>This was the most ludicrous thing he’d ever heard. Andy had not worked at the house for two years, and Daisy despised the upper class. As for Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson, well… it was plausible they carried more sentiment for the old bat, but his argument still held water.</p><p>“I am not interrupting their honeymoon- their wedding night-“ He added with great tension, “To tell them that the Dowager is dead.  If it gets to be too much, I’ll call for them.”</p><p>“But-“</p><p>“Mrs. Patmore, for god’s sake!” Thomas snapped. “She is not their family, she is hardly even their employer. This is their wedding night, and I am not going to phone them. End of story.” She shrank back from him as if he’d slapped her. He was not in the mood for her dramatics.</p><p>“I am going to wait by the door for Grisby’s,” He announced. “If you wish to stay up, that is your own affair. I advise you all to try and get some sleep as the next few days are going to be utterly insane.” But it seemed that no one was taking his advice. Mrs. Patmore still had that look on her face like Thomas had kicked a kitten. He let out an enormous sigh, displease with all of them, and headed for the servant’s stairwell. In his wake, he left a group of cowed if unhappy co-workers.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Grisby’s came and took the Dowager away, and Thomas did his best to try and get the Crawley family to go back to bed. Lord Grantham didn’t do much but sit and cry. Lady Grantham tried to sleep but ended up tossing and turning half the night. Lady Mary wanted to sit in the library for some reason, so Thomas let her and left her alone. Branson and Talbot were the only two with the decency to return to bed until around six the next morning. As for Thomas, he stayed up and barricaded himself in his office as he started the enormous process of burying the Dowager.</p><p>For the most part, upper class funerals were narrowly straight forward. The deceased was laid to rest in a fashionable and tasteful manner. The Dowager had already written out what she wanted done for her funeral, but this didn’t make it any less complicated. It was the middle of winter and somehow Thomas had to come up with over a hundred lily of the valleys, which had apparently been her favorite flower. He had to get Moseley and Albert to hunker down and polish the Queen Anne silver set which hadn’t been used since Lady Sybil’s funeral, and he had to (worst of all) organize with Father Travis the entire fucking affair. He could handle sniffing out warm weather flowers in December and polishing until his fingers bled. But Travis? Christ, he’d rather be shot.</p><p>Morning found Thomas head deep in the silver pantry, rooting around for the more fragile pieces of the Queen Anne set. Bates and Anna were tending to Lord Grantham and Lady Mary. Baxter was handling Lady Grantham. Branson and Talbot had been kind enough to fend for themselves. Mrs. Price had come back over to help with the cooking, but no one wanted to eat, so she ended up going back home and Mrs. Patmore used Gertie to sort out a spartan meal for the upstairs. Today would be a day of quiet and sober reflection, while papers in Grantham county printed the news and Grisby’s prepared the Dowager.</p><p>At least, this was the original intention. What <em>actually </em>happened was that at 7:37 in the morning, Carson burst into the office like a man possessed and began raving at Thomas.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Thomas, having been bent over the silver cabinet, ended up banging his head against the door in shock and fright.</p><p>“Jesus wept!” He cursed, clutching at his chest. Carson was fuming, positively boiling in anger with Mrs. Hughes at his elbow.</p><p>“You have quite a lot of nerve!” Carson thundered, storming over to Thomas so that they were almost nose to nose. “Even for you, this is astounding.”</p><p>“What have I done now?!” He wondered, agog.</p><p>“You didn’t even call me last night!” Carson howled, purple in the face. “You kept me away from the family for four critical hours, and why?! Because you didn’t have the decency to show anyone kindness in a traumatic situation!”</p><p>At the door, Mrs. Hughes put her head in her hands with shame. She was horribly embarrassed.</p><p>“Mr. Carson,” She begged, exasperated. “I have been trying tell you, all morning, Mrs. Patmore said-“</p><p>“To hell with what Mrs. Patmore said!” He spat out the name. “I know full well why you didn’t call! You didn’t call because you didn’t care! I should have been the first one informed!”</p><p>“As opposed to the mortician?” Thomas sneered, shoving his way past Carson to place the Queen Anne set upon his desk. “What were you going to do, wrap her in a sheet and hope for the best?”</p><p>“How dare you speak to me in such a tone, I am the Elder statesman!”</p><p>“Well here you are!” Thomas flapped his hands angrily. “Enjoy! Do whatever you please! You want to polish silver with Albert and Moseley?! Because that’s the only job I’ve got right now!”</p><p>At the door, Mrs. Hughes was close to putting her hands over her ears to block out all the shouting. Beyond her, Thomas saw the shadow of Gertie and Mrs. Patmore, the pair of them gawking from the kitchen with their mouths open.</p><p>“There’s nothing to be done! The preparations have already been made for the funeral, that’s the extent of it-“</p><p>“Oh no, I won’t have you sullying your way through this!” Mr. Carson cut him off.</p><p>“Sullying?!” he demanded.</p><p>“I’m taking over until the Dowager has been laid to rest in the true fashion that a lady of her nobility deserves,” And at this, Carson drew himself up to his fullest height. As a man of 6’4”, this was rather impressive. “I won’t have you messing this up for her, or the family.”</p><p>Thomas spluttered, so furious that he couldn’t get one word out without tripping over three more. “I—you—taking over?!” He repeated. “How in the hell could I possibly mess this up?! She wrote the document herself!”</p><p>“Orders are followed only as well as they are understood,” Mr. Carson said, and in a cementing move he walked around Thomas’ desk to sit in his chair. For all the intent, it was like he’d slapped Thomas.</p><p>“How could I possibly misunderstand a hundred lilies of the valley?! Or the Queen Anne’s set?!” Thomas demanded. “You know what-“ he had to forcibly take back the reigns of control before it was too late. “No, I’m not having this conversation again! Get out of my chair! I don’t need your help in laying the Dowager to rest! I can handle this, just as I could have handled the royal visit!”</p><p>“As if,” Carson sneered. “As I recall you let the boiler break twice!”</p><p>“I <em>let it break?!” </em>He felt like he was going insane. Mr. Carson was starting to smile in an ugly and smug manner which did not suit his face. At the door, Mrs. Hughes opened and closed her mouth several times, each with a different sentence or excuse to make for her husband.</p><p>“Mr. Carson, please-“ she finally ended up spitting out. “This isn’t helping anyone at all-“</p><p>Like so many times before, it was not Thomas’ pain which brought Carson situational awareness but the voice of his wife. Slightly reproachful, Carson re-adjusted his expression to be somber instead of smug and spoke in a more dignified voice. Quivering with anger before Carson, now Thomas had to do the same lest he look like the irrational one. This was gaslighting at its finest, and it made him boil with rage.</p><p>“This funeral is the most important of the family,” Mr. Carson said. “The Dowager was the final element on era that is now tragically laid to rest. I don’t like pulling authority over you-“</p><p>Unable to keep his mouth shut, Thomas spat out, “Bullshit.”</p><p>“Watch your tongue!” Carson warned with a finger in his face.</p><p>“Can I bury the dog at least?” Thomas sneered.</p><p>“If you’re lucky,” He replied.</p><p>Thomas pinched his the bridge of his nose, shutting his eyes to try and control his temper. It would do him very little good.</p><p>“You can throw a tantrum all you like, I’m doing what’s best for the family-“</p><p>He could not stand it anymore. Thomas left the room, storming out with such a hot wave that he allowed the door to smack into the opposite wall with an ugly ‘crunch’ of metal meeting plaster. Gertie jumped, shocked at the sight of Thomas storming down the hall to the area yard.</p><p>“Mr. Barrow!” Mrs. Hughes called after him. “Thomas, come back-“</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>But he would not come back. He left the abbey, and did not cease until he was a good ways into the garden right on the border of the tree line where he could scream and curse as loud as he liked with only the groundskeeper ever the wiser.</p><p>“FUCK!!” Thomas screamed at the top of his lungs. The resulting shock sent several birds into the air. “BUGGERING FUCK!” He kicked at the grass beneath him, dirtying his shoes. “FUCK, PISS, AND SHIT, AND FUCK! FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU-!” And at this, he kicked an aged oak tree. His only reward was to painfully stub his toe, so he began hopping up and down, clutching his foot.</p><p>“Ah-!” He collapsed against the tree he’d just kicked, crumpling down into the grass to nurse his wounds with a heaping dose of self-pity.</p><p>“Oh god…” Thomas laid his head back against the tree. When he opened his eyes, it was to a dismally gray sky above, which barely filtered through the heavy canopy. He looked back down with a sigh, fighting back the urge to cry. He tried to convince himself he was only weepy over pain, and not Carson’s bullying.</p><p>But then, something caught his eye that distracted him both from Carson and his toe.</p><p>Only a few trees away, leaning against a dead oak and eating an apple he’d probably pilfered from someone’s storage, was Christopher.</p><p>He was watching Thomas, curious. He arched an eyebrow at the sight of Thomas with a fallen leaf tangled in his hair and his shoes muckied with grass.</p><p>“Nice day for it,” Christopher greeted him.</p><p>“Don’t talk to me.” Thomas rubbed his foot some more. “I’m angry.”</p><p>Instead of taking the hint and leaving well enough alone, Christopher continued to munch on his apple and walked over to squat down next to Thomas so that they were eye level. He looked a mite better, with new clothes (though they were probably more fit for a farmer than a gangster). He’d also shaved, so that his razor thin pencil mustache was back in full style.</p><p>“And why are you angry?” He asked.</p><p>“Because-“ Thomas was so ready to spit and scream that each word was ground out between clenched teeth. “My butler is an ass, and I hate him. I hate him- the stupid, mangy, cunt- twat!” And he thumped the ground beside him with a balled fist.</p><p>“Alright, fair enough.” Christopher didn’t barter on the topic. “How about we do something with that anger that’s a little more constructive-“</p><p>“He’s not even the butler!” Thomas could not believe his slip up. “I am!” He pointed angrily to himself. “He’s just the sodding elder statesman whatever the hell that is! He gets to lord up in his little cottage with his little wife and his perfect little existence, while I’m stuck in that stupid, evil, ugly-“ Thomas pointed a finger at the abbey, which was anything but stupid, evil, or ugly. “Argh!” Furious and soundly beaten, Thomas threw his head back against the oak only to have another leaf fall directly onto his face. He winced, humiliated.</p><p>Christopher reached out and kindly plucked the leaf off his nose.</p><p> </p><p>“He got a cottage you say?” He asked. “Where.”</p><p>Thomas gestured aimlessly off to the left. He didn’t actually know the real address of the Carson’s cottage, but he could easily walk there.</p><p>“Well then, why don’t you show me,” Christopher offered a hand to pull Thomas up. Thomas rejected it, staggering back to his feet on his still sore foot to begin cursing afresh.</p><p>“But he’s not at home!” Thomas snapped, pointing a finger back to the abbey like a vindictive witch’s claw. “He’s in the abbey, doing my job! Just because that old bat died and everyone’s having a stroke over it, it’s so stupid. She never worked a day in her life, she wouldn’t have cared a tuppence if one of us had died!”</p><p>“So he’s a boot licker-“ Christopher rose back up to his feet, finishing his apple to toss it over his shoulder back into the woods.</p><p>“Licker?” He sneered, “He’d eat it raw if they gave him half the chance!”</p><p>Christopher laughed, wiping his hands free of sticky apple juice upon his trousers. “Come on,” He pulled Thomas along. “Come show me this perfect little cottage.”</p><p>“But why?” He complained. “Why go to the cottage at all?”</p><p>“I’ve got an idea,” Christopher offered, “And it’ll help you get even. You’d like that wouldn’t you?”</p><p>And Thomas rather supposed he would.</p><p> </p><p>The pair of them made their way through the Grantham woods, having to pause every so often to circumnavigate around a rather perilous log or a nasty bush full of thorns. There wasn’t much that they could talk about. Thomas didn’t commonly make his company with murderers, and Christopher was rather silent when he wasn’t swaggering about the place. But the more that they walked in silence, the more awkward that Thomas felt. Christopher kept banging on about how they were meant to be, but Richard was so heavily engrained in his mind that Thomas could no longer summon the energy to play with a fantasy. It felt like cheating, even if he wasn’t technically with Richard.</p><p>Or was he? It was so hard to say.</p><p> </p><p>“Look, while we’re here…” Thomas could not help but feel terribly nervous. He’d never been in such a peculiar position before. “I have to tell you that it can’t carry on between us.”</p><p>“And why’s that.” Instead of being upset, Christopher seemed completely at ease. For some reason, this only made Thomas feel more conflicted. If things were straightforward, he could handle them with ease. But the more that Christopher hid from him, the more Thomas felt inextricably entwined with the man.</p><p>“The man I’m in love with is moving here to be with me,” Thomas said.</p><p>“But he isn’t here now.”</p><p>“That doesn’t matter!” He felt like he was arguing with a child. “I won’t be unfaithful to him, no matter where he is. I care about him too much.”</p><p>They reached the main road which led to the Carson’s cottage, but instead of walking along it they instead followed it parallel in the woods. This kept Christopher safe from the public eye and gave them some semblance of privacy.</p><p>“And do I get to know my competition’s name?”</p><p>But Thomas did not feel comfortable with telling Christopher details about Richard. Richard was sacred to Thomas, something to be kept secret and only enjoyed in utmost privacy. “He’s not your competition.” To keep Christopher from getting annoyed and asking more difficult questions, Thomas gestured towards the Carson’s cottage which lay in a little grotto just next to a farmer’s field. “There.”</p><p>“Aha!” There was a maniacal gleam in Christopher’s piercing eyes as he crossed into open country and walked right up to the front door. He jiggled the handle, found it wanting, and then reached into his pocket to pull out a pick.</p><p>“I can make easy work of this,” He said.</p><p>But this… this was not right. As much as Thomas despised Carson for being an utter prig this morning, he could not and would not condone Christopher breaking into their cottage. This was Mrs. Hughes’ home too, after all, and he would rather be shot than bring her any amount of grief. At once, Thomas sprang into action, stopping Christopher with his pick before he could jam it into the lock. Christopher was taken aback.</p><p>“No!” Thomas begged. “No, we can’t do that.”</p><p>“Why not?” Christopher asked, genuinely perplexed at why Thomas wasn’t eager to break and enter a coworker’s house. “Go on, get even with the moron.”</p><p>“We can’t do this Christopher. It’s wrong.” Thomas forced his hand back own, so that Christopher had to relent and pocket his pick. Annoyed, Christopher shucked his hands in his trouser pockets.</p><p>“Well then what?” Christopher asked. “How are we going to get even with him?”</p><p>Thomas chewed on his lip, looking about. The only thing that he could think of (both petty and petulant) was to do some kind of damage to Mr. Carson’s garden. He’d been going on nonstop about how big his produce was… wouldn’t it be lovely just to even the score with him?</p><p>Spurned forward, Thomas went around the cottage to where Carson’s garden lay at the side. To be fair, the vegetables were growing quite well despite the winter cold. The first true snows of the season had yet to fall (they were unseasonably late) and Thomas had a feeling as soon as they did so Carson’s garden would have to go into remission until next Spring.</p><p>So really… what was the harm in having a bit of fun.</p><p>He looked up and around and noted that in the farmer’s field next to them there were a pair of British White cows were minding their own business grazing on brown and dried grass. Their black noses were muddied with dust, and every so often they’d flick their black ears to ward off a pesky insect. They were hungry, Thomas could tell.</p><p>He grinned and bent down to yank up an enormous handful of broad beans from the ground. Christopher was happy to join in, ripping up the spinach, peas, and onions with abandon. Thomas, however, was more singular in mind. He walked right over to the fence which divided the Carson’s property from the farmers and waved the beans energetically.</p><p>That got the cow’s attention sure enough.</p><p>“Hey there!” Thomas called brightly, speaking in a sweetened voice as if to a child. “Come to me, you don’t want that grass. You want yummy things, don’t you? Look what I have here.”</p><p>The cows walked over at once, moving with adept speed for such bulky creatures. Suddenly, Thomas was accosted by the stench of cow musk as they began to eat the broad beans right out of his hands. Christopher burst out laughing as Thomas kicked at the fence, breaking the rotten wood so that it fell to offer a gap to the cows.</p><p>They took it once, steamrolling right past Thomas and Christopher to begin eating every bit of Carson’s garden. They were gluttons at a feast, no longer having to deny themselves on grass.</p><p>“Are you mental?” Christopher demanded, but he was smiling as he said it. Thomas watched as Christopher patted the cow’s massive flank, rubbing at its milky white hair to wipe off a bit of grime. It was a rather mucky life, being a cow in England.</p><p>“It’s working!” Thomas was gleeful at his plan. This was perfect, how could Carson ever blame him? To any passerby it would look like the cows had simply broken through a rotten fence. It was the perfect crime!</p><p>“Christ, look at it go,” Christopher wondered. A cow devoured a whole patch of peas without once lifting its head, taking huge mouthfuls to chew with abandon.</p><p>“It’s like a little machine,” Thomas praised. He patted the cow, marveling at just how pretty it was up close. These were fine dames; finer than any Crawley girl he’d ever served!</p><p>But this was cutting it close to danger. They were still out in the open, and if anyone should see Christopher there would be chaos. Mindful not to get his shoes mucky with cow dung, Thomas stepped around the disaster that was now Carson’s garden to take Christopher’s hand and pull him back toward the tree line.</p><p>“Come on,” Thomas urged. “Or you’ll be seen!”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Right, right-“ Christopher quite agreed, and soon the pair of them were running back into the forest, tripping over fallen limbs and upturned roots until they were quite safe in the gloom and none could find them. Safe at last, the pair of them had to take a moment just to laugh. It felt so good to do a bit of mayhem again, to let the blood pump in his veins!</p><p>He beamed at Christopher, who shook his head and pulled out a cigarette to offer Thomas one. He took it and lit it to take a deep drag.</p><p>“You are a bad influence on me,” Christopher teased.</p><p>“I try.”</p><p>For a minute they simply stood there and smoked, coming down from their adrenaline high.</p><p>But then, Christopher’s smile drifted into a frown. He was deep in thought, clearly mulling something over.</p><p>“Listen…” It seemed they’d reached a new chapter in their conversation, and one that he wasn’t happy touching. “I need to tell you something but… I really shouldn’t.”</p><p>“What?” Thomas asked. “What’s wrong?”</p><p>“I got word last night that a new agent is coming into the area, for Coyle,” And at this, Christopher spoke so softly that Thomas could barely hear him. He was whispering, eager not to get caught spilling his boss’s secrets. “So secret, no one knows his name. Whatever he is, he’s apparently a fuckin’ tyrant to deal with. Real hard ass. So keep your eyes out… might get a little rough.”</p><p>“Whose the agent?” Thomas asked. “Do you know him?”</p><p>“Nah, he won’t tell us.” Christopher shrugged. “Hell it might not even be a man, he’s had a few women come in from time to time. Whoever they are, they’re a menace. All I can do is shut up and do my job supplying whiskey. That’s how you keep your head with Coyle. Loose lips get sown.”</p><p>But Thomas couldn’t stand it. It was ludicrous that Christopher went along and did Coyle’s bidding. “Do you really like him?” Thomas asked.</p><p>He grinned, but it was a fake smile meant to hide an enormous amount of confliction and pain. But instead of lying, hiding, or changing the topic, Christopher simply spoke the truth again. He was quite good at that.</p><p>“No,” He said. “But he’s got me by the balls, doll face. If I’m gonna get out of this adorable little arrangement I’ve got to play my cards close to my chest. And that involves doing what he says, at least on the surface. But…” And at this, Christopher raised a finger, shaking it mildly in clear indication. “For every action that I take, I keep my motives with you in mind.”</p><p>“Me?” Thomas asked.</p><p>“You,” Christopher nodded. “Cause how else could I keep sane otherwise?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They started their trek back to the abbey, though this time it was at a more languid pace. Thomas wished this situation was less complicated. To keep from speaking about things like love, he instead turned the conversation back towards something that both amused and intrigued him.</p><p>“So, how do you run whiskey?” Thomas asked. “And what did you do before that?”</p><p>“Well, I was born the son of a distiller,” Chris explained. “I used to help m’da make whiskey. Then he found out what I was and he tried to kill me.”</p><p>“So it goes,” it seemed to be a common thread with men like them.</p><p>“Well, I had to make it on my own after that. I’m too smart to steal petty shit, and too ugly to work as a prostitute-“</p><p>Thomas could not help but laugh at that.</p><p>“Ah you laugh but it was hard finding my way at first. All I knew was whiskey.” They reached the very edge of Downton estate, and began to make their way around the side with Thomas leading. He took Christopher to the Jacobite, which sat on the far end of the east lawn and offered them respite from passersby.</p><p>“So one night, I’m scrounging for trash to eat, and I see a bar get into a huge fall out. Fights, everyone’s making a mess-“ Christopher waved a hand, “So I sneak in thinking I can nick some actual food when I see a crate m’da’s whiskey. And I think… Why not. So I take it. And then I sell it. And then I take more, and I sell that too, and suddenly people are calling me up saying ‘hey Chris could you give us a drop of liquid courage in America? And then I was really rolling in it.” He cackled a bit to himself. “I had a whole bunch of money back then. I could have given you anything you wanted.”</p><p>“Thanks but I’m good,” Thomas leaned up against the wall of the Jacobite. “I’m not a whiskey drinker.”</p><p>Christopher made a tutting noise of disapproval. “I’ll soon cure you of that. What you need is the right kind of whiskey.”</p><p>And without further ado, he fished around in his jacket to pull out a tiny vial of a deep amber liquid. He offered it to Thomas. “A little taster, on me.”</p><p>Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Thomas opened the jar and downed it in one shot.</p><p>He swallowed it, trying hard not to grimace. He ended up doubled over, coughing out what he could only describe as ‘filthy fire’.</p><p>“Jesus wept-!” Thomas managed to get out between gags. “What the fuck was that?!”</p><p>“That was one of my newest concoctions!” And Chris had the audacity to look proud of himself.</p><p>“For fuck’s sake, don’t give that to women and children, you’ll give them brain damage,” Thomas spluttered, straightening back up. He had to take several deep breaths before he felt like he’d gotten himself under control.</p><p>But then Christopher paused, and took the glass vial from Thomas hand to do a double take.</p><p>“Wrong one, wrong one!” And he was panicking now, chucking the glass bottle over his shoulder so that it fell somewhere in the woods. “Sorry that’s the shite one-“</p><p>“You bastard!” Oh he could sock him in the eye for this. “You say you like me, but you don’t even check which whiskey you give me!”</p><p>“Sorry-“ and he did sound truly embarrassed. He checked in his pockets again, and Thomas was amazed to find he had several little vials, each with different colored whiskeys inside. He finally settled on one that was a gentler color of amber, almost orange, and handed it to Thomas. “That’s mine.”</p><p>He grimaced; nose upturned. “I don’t think I want to.”</p><p>“A token of good faith,” Christopher smiled, opening the jar for Thomas, and taking the first sip.  He swished it around in his mouth before swallowing and let out a sigh of contentment. “Yep that’s definitely the right one.”</p><p>Slightly soothed, Thomas took the little bottle and carefully sipped on it.</p><p>It was…. Nice?</p><p>“Oh-“ Thomas was surprised to not immediately want to die. It was whiskey, but it was also smooth and warm. Perfect for a hard winter’s night. There was something fruity about it but he couldn’t say what. “Why does it taste like fruit?”</p><p>“I infuse it with honey and apples,” Chris explained. “I call it ‘sweet tooth’. It’s got a bit of a following in the criminal world.”</p><p>“Shit, I can see why.”</p><p> </p><p>For a moment, they simply stood there, the pair of them swapping the whiskey vial until it was drained. Thomas felt rather bad for telling Christopher his whiskey was vile. It seemed that, as the son of a distiller, he knew damn well what it meant to make fine liquor.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey-“ Christopher snapped his fingers, eyes alite. “Maybe it’s the whiskey talking but do you remember how I asked you to check on whether your friend had a nickname?”</p><p>Oh bloody hell. That’s right, he had- and Thomas now knew exactly who ‘Petal’ was.</p><p> </p><p>“So…” Thomas paused, “There’s something you should know too.”</p><p>“That I’m incredibly handsome?” Christopher quipped. “Yes, I know, it’s the mustache.”</p><p>“No,” Thomas grumbled, leaning up against the crumbling wall of the Jacobite. “It’s a bit more serious than that.”</p><p>“Christ,” he grinned, “Here I was thinking you wanted me to cool my kettle-“</p><p>“Christopher if you interrupt me again, I’ll sock you.”</p><p>He grinned, lips pursed in a silent sign of ‘I promise not to interrupt’. Annoyed, Thomas continued.</p><p>“…She’s Petal,” Thomas said. Christopher’s jovial air dropped with the weight of an anvil, his face contorting into an awful grimace. “What—what?!”</p><p>“Eeeesh…” he rubbed the back of his head, then carefully stroked his pencil thin mustache so that not a single whisker was out of place. “Oh boy that’s not good.”</p><p>“What do you know?” Thomas begged. “Tell me, I beg of you. She’s dearer to me than all the world besides.”</p><p>“Well…” Christopher coughed, internally struggling to find the right way to say what he inevitably must. “Now, bear in mind this is coming from the ravings of a lunatic in a dark and dank jail cell but… from what I understand, they were young and in love for a long time. We’re talking over a decade.”</p><p>That made sense. Thomas nodded, urging for Christopher to continue. “I knew that.”</p><p>“Well… Apparently things got really bad when, about ten years ago, she got pregnant-“</p><p>“What?!” He barked, unable to control himself. Phyllis Baxter had been pregnant?! Christopher pressed a hand over Thomas’ mouth, eager to shut him up.</p><p>“Shh…” Christopher grumbled. He looked left, then right, taking care to make sure they weren’t being overheard. “You’re a mouthy braud you know that?”</p><p>Thomas bit out, catching Christopher’s finger in his teeth. Christopher yipped pulling his hand away.</p><p>“Don’t tell me to hush!” He hissed, irritable. “She’s never told me she got pregnant. What happened to the baby? Where is it now?”</p><p>“Well that’s just it, my beloved ferret,” Christopher grumbled, still smarting in his finger. “She lost it. Some kind of bar fight gone wrong as I understand it.”</p><p>“A bar fight?” Thomas wondered.</p><p>“Something like another woman and here got into fisticuffs.”</p><p>“I don’t believe this-“ it was the most ludicrous story he’d ever heard. A pregnant Phyllis Baxter getting into a fist fight with a woman at a bar and having a miscarriage as a result? It was insane to even imagine.</p><p>“Look I’m only telling you what he told me,” Christopher cut across. “Take it with a grain of salt-“</p><p>“Or a cup-“</p><p>“Well after that, the pair of them went mental. They got blacker and blacker, if you know what I mean. She was just as bad as he was. She ran into that woman who made her miscarry… and if Coyle is to be believed, she nearly killed her. Beat her within an inch of her life. With a crowbar-“</p><p>“I don’t believe that,” Thomas snapped. Christopher raised his hands in gentle defense.</p><p>“Well as I say…. Apparently, they fell out after that, and he decided he had to get rid of her. She was too much of a danger for him. She meant too much to him. So he frames her for a botched robbery-“</p><p>“And she spends three years in prison,” Thomas muttered nastily.</p><p>“Well… this is when it gets interesting,” And at this, Christopher looked over his shoulder again, like he was afraid someone might see them pressed up together spilling all of Coyle’s dirt onto the Jacobite floor. “See… after prison, he writes to her. But she won’t write back. He claimed he was sorry, take that for what you will, and when she didn’t reply he got madder and madder. He desperately wanted her to acknowledge him. But she wouldn’t. And then… she turned him into the police. Got him arrested. So here I am in jail with a jabbering lunatic for a cellmate, telling me how he’s gonna kill her. How he’s gonna cut her throat out and eat her heart while it’s still beating. That’s why he’s here in Downton. He’s trying to capture and kill Petal, whoever she is.”</p><p> </p><p>So it seemed that Thomas’ worst fears had been confirmed. He thought of Baxter, screaming at him the other night, warning him that he did not understand just how evil Coyle was. How dangerous and vile the man could be. She’d be right, and Coyle’s intentions were clear now with Christopher’s insight. He wanted to kill Baxter, and he wouldn’t stop until he’d accomplished his goal. But maybe, just maybe, the man could be persuaded otherwise. Maybe Thomas could get under his skin, make him change his mind. He was a butler after all, and he held the keys to the Crawley’s wealth. If he used it correctly, he might be able to save Baxter from a world of terror.</p><p>“What will take to get him to leave her alone?” He asked. “I’ll give him anything he wants. I can get into the Crawley’s finest riches. Silver, gold, jewels, money… he can have anything he desires, so long as he leaves her be.”</p><p> </p><p>“Tah love…” Christopher reached out, and gently took Thomas’ hand in his own. He knew he ought to pull away, but… it felt more friendly than anything. “He can’t be consoled like that. He’s past the point of reconciliation. He wants blood. Love makes you do crazy things-“</p><p>“yeah like throw up in front of a group of people, not murder someone,” Thomas said, thinking of Moseley and how he’d gaffed up his proposal.</p><p> </p><p>But without missing a wink, Christopher replied. “I’d murder for you. I have murdered for you… I shot three policemen, escaping prison. I’d do a lot more for you.”</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t know whether to take that as a compliment or not, and that disturbed him. He’d never wanted anyone murdered, not even when he’d been at war with Germany. At the same time, the policeman that had arrested him in Turpin’s was ready to murder Thomas himself. That vile night had showed him the true dichotomy of human nature. What if that policeman had been the one to point a gun at Thomas. Would he have hesitated to pull the trigger?</p><p> </p><p>And what if it had been Thomas in Christopher’s shoes. What if he’d been the one to be imprisoned, and having to deal with Coyle as a cell mate? What would he have done? Would he have pulled that trigger?</p><p> </p><p>To stop himself from going down that spiraling path, Thomas forced himself to focus on Christopher. On the here and now, and the physical.</p><p> </p><p>“Christopher, listen to me-“ Thomas begged.</p><p>“I know you’re soft on this other guy-“</p><p>“It’s more than that,” he cut him off. “We can’t see each other anymore like this. I like you I do… but I love him.”</p><p>“For god’s sake,” And at this, Christopher pressed him against the wall of the Jacobite, his nose close to Thomas’ temple so that he could speak directly into his ear. “I’m begging you… just give me a chance. Just once chance.”</p><p>“I can’t do that to either of you,” Thomas whispered back. “I’m not worth all this nonsense. I’m used to men flirting with the Lady of my house, not me. I’ve barely had one suitor for twenty years, now I’ve got two? You’ll find someone else-“</p><p>“I don’t want anyone else.” Christopher said, but he did not speak with venom or arrogance. Instead, there was a plain awful truth to his voice… that clear sober quality of a man who’d given up. Who’d accepted the awful facts for what they were.</p><p> </p><p>“All I want… is you,” And at this, Christopher leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to Thomas’ mouth. For a moment they simply stood there, the pair of them locked in a tender and fragile embrace. Their lips tasted of whiskey both filthy and fine. The more that Thomas remained silent, the more his resistance began to crumble. There was something about Christopher that he could not deny. Something that called to him and reminded him of himself. He supposed that when he looked in the mirror and saw what he did not like, he saw Christopher. And when he looked and saw what he was proud of, he saw Richard. Both men had a hold on him.</p><p>So he allowed Christopher to kiss him again.</p><p>Unlike before, when he’d been handsy and intense, he was now gentle and soft. He opened his mouth ever so carefully, tilting Thomas’ head back to deepen their kiss as his hands came around him in a firm embrace. His mustache tickled Thomas’ upper lip. He shivered and did not know if it was from cold.</p><p>When their kiss broke for air, Christopher was in his ear, whispering, “The color of your lips chases me in my sleep. I dream of you, naked, laying a pool of whiskey, and letting me lick every drop off your skin-“</p><p> </p><p>“Thomas!”</p><p>A far off voice rang across the grounds.</p><p> </p><p>For a moment, the pair of them simply stood, neither moving for the terror that rooted them to the spot.</p><p>“Thomas, come out!” He knew that Scottish brogue anywhere. It was Mrs. Hughes. “Stop hiding in the garden, we have a serious situation on our hands! I know your angry, but I need your help!”</p><p>The crunch of feet upon gravel made Thomas freeze. Christopher had heard it too. He pulled back, eyes narrowed with distrust.</p><p>Thomas gestured for Christopher to flee, and he did so without another word. Taking off, Christopher ran into the depths of the forest to be swallowed up by the gloom. The footfalls continued, growing louder, and Thomas took a deep breath to compose himself before coming around the wall of the Jacobite to see Mrs. Hughes coming up the walk, trying to use the mound of the Jacobite as a viewing point.  </p><p>“I- I’m here-“ Thomas stuttered, straightening his tie and meeting her halfway to ensure she didn’t get too close to the woods. She let out an irritable huff, exhausted.</p><p>“There you are,” she gestured back towards the house. “Come with me, there’s work to be done, even if Mr. Carson wants to do your job for you. Today is not the day to be slacking, Thomas. And-“ She paused, sniffing.</p><p>Thomas stopped, eyes wide.</p><p>“… Have you been drinking?” She demanded, outraged at his display.</p><p>“No-“ He tried to lie.</p><p>“I’m Scottish,” She said as if this wasn’t entirely obvious from the start. “D’you think I don’t know the smell of whiskey on a man’s breath?”</p><p>“W-“ Thomas tried for an excuse but came up empty. “It’s…” It was what, exactly?</p><p>“I was… cold…” he finished lamely.</p><p>She scoffed, and then reached out to grab him by the sleeve of his jacket.</p><p>“You’re coming with me right this instant, and you’re drinking black coffee until you sober up. I can’t believe you Thomas, of all the days to pull your shenanigans you have to do it when the Dowager is dead!”</p><p>Cowed and humiliated, Thomas had no choice but to follow her back into the servant’s area. He looked over his shoulder and saw Christopher standing on the outskirts of the lawn, watching him go.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Bleak Winter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Dowager is laid to rest in fashion and opulence. Tempers grow hot between the two butlers.  Lady Grantham gives a cruel command. Baxter and Thomas offer one another counsel on their respective griefs.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>No warnings for this chapter, save for Thomas losing his cool and throwing a chair. </p><p>It's fine though the chair isn't hurt.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The funeral of Lady Violet Odilia Crawley was held on a quiet and  dismal winter’s morning. A dead air coated everything in a stillness that could not be shaken by the jingle of a horse’s harness or the call of a farmer from the field. The streets were lined in black, mourners lining up from halfway across England. Lady Maud Bagshaw, who had so recently been to Downton, was back with her maid Lucy. Somehow, in a turn of events that Thomas could not understand, Lucy had risen from simply being her lady’s maid to being her companion. As such, she was dressed in finer clothing and did not seek shelter amongst the staff but was settled in a room near Lady Bagshaw. Her new maid was a quiet and placid creature named Anne, who had mousy brown hair and a rather pale complexion. The three women looked like witches sitting around a cauldron, all dressed in black with gaunt and withdrawn expressions. The funeral carriage which was to carry the Dowager to her final resting spot in the Crawley crypt was driven by a team of six black horses. Even the wood of the carriage was black, with dark velvet trim and a driver who wore a hat better suited from 1859. Thomas had to admit that despite his infuriating approach, Carson had done well.</p><p>He didn’t look happy though. No one looked happy.</p><p>Lady Edith arrived with Lord Hexam, bringing Marigold with them. From the moment she arrived, she wept, and was inconsolable at the loss of her grandmother. For some reason, this seemed to really grind at Lady Mary’s nerves, perhaps because Lady Mary had cared the most for the Dowager and yet seemed to be grieving the least. But Thomas had watched these people for years and he knew what to look for. There was a deadened expression on her face; a hollow hold in her dark brown eyes. Where Lady Edith cried, Lady Mary just stared into the fire in staunch silence.</p><p>The staff rode in Mr. Mason’s wagonette. The man had been thoughtful enough to borrow black horses from his neighbor instead of using his regular dappled mares. In black, each servant sat quietly in neat little lines, careful not to make too much noise or move about around the carriage. Johnny Bates had been left at the abbey with a minder, along with Caroline and Marigold. George and Sybbie, however, were old enough to go and had been stuffed into itchy black mourning suits.</p><p>Thomas sat near the front of the wagonette with Baxter to his side. Moseley flanked her on her other side, the pair of them serving as rudimentary walls of shelter around the Victorian morality of the day. Somehow, today had a very conservative feel about it; like they’d already committed an atrocity just by being born poor.</p><p>“Lady Mary couldn’t manage a bite this morning,” Anna mused.</p><p>“It was good of you to look in on her.” Both she and Mrs. Hughes seemed utterly exhausted, even though they’d only been up for a few hours. The weight of the family’s sorrows was having an unforeseen effect upon the staff. Though the Dowager had not been a part of their own throng, it seemed like one of them had also died. Or rather, that the world in which she’d inhabited had died. Those days of tea gowns and petticoats were gone, along with the Victorian sensibilities that had made the home feel like the center of the universe.</p><p>It felt like Downton would never be the same again, somehow. .</p><p>“His Lordship is heartbroken,” Bates said. “I tried to get him to touch something, even a cup of tea, but he wouldn’t.”</p><p>Across from him, Baxter spoke up. “It’ll take a while till things feel normal again.”</p><p>For so many weeks now, she’d been the pariah of the house. The Dowager’s death seemed to have shocked everyone into forgetting her sins, at least for the moment.</p><p>“I feel like I’ve aged a year in the past few nights. Like this reality isn’t the one I’m supposed to inhabit. Like I ought to be getting back home but I can’t find the way.” Mrs. Hughes said.</p><p>Through all of this, Thomas said nothing. Instead, he kept to the far side of the cart and stared listlessly out into the fields thinking of Christopher and Richard. More than ever, he wished that Richard were here so that they might navigate these muddy waters together. In his mind, Thomas saw the pair of them dancing upon ice, hands locked and feet spinning over the slick surface. Where one would fall, the other would pull them upright.</p><p>His train of pleasant thought was interrupted by Carson, who was displeased with Thomas’ inability to publicly show grief for a woman he did not miss.</p><p>“I suppose you find this all very droll?” He asked.</p><p>Thomas did not even look at Carson, instead choosing that moment to carefully pull out his pocket watch and examine the time. “This is a time for the family to grieve, not us. She wasn’t our family.”</p><p>“She as good was,” Carson clearly took offense, bristling at Thomas’ cold tone. “I grew up under her watch.”</p><p>“No, you didn’t,” Thomas snapped. He glared at the man, wondering how someone so old could also be so stupid at times. “You merely grew up in her house. This isn’t a day for the staff, it’s a day for her children and grandchildren. Perhaps we can allow them the ability to grieve without wailing all over the place.”</p><p>Carson opened his mouth, probably ready to throw Thomas bodily from the cart, but he was stopped by Mrs. Hughes who clenched his hand in an iron tight grip and forced him away. Brooding but unable to vent, Carson instead turned back to his fellows and avoided Thomas altogether.</p><p>It was a sentiment readily returned.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The funeral was an exhausting and tragic affair. Downton Church was packed to the nines with both upper and lower class. Stuck near the back, the Downton staff watched from afar as the Crawley family each paid their respects to their deceased matriarch before words were spoken in her honor by Father Travis. The droll man grew even more boring when allowed to drone on for ages on a pompous subject. Thomas nearly fell asleep in his chair and managed to distract himself by slowly tearing at the edges of his program to make a bizarre diamond design. Mrs. Hughes reached over and silently forced him to stop, so that by the end of the funeral he had to relinquish his pamphlet project and return his attention solely to the front of the church.</p><p>The Dowager was taken from Downton Church by the funeral procession. From here, the public and the private divided like a sea so that the regular Downton villagers were allowed to return to their daily lives while the upper class visitors and their staff were made to return to Downton Abbey where on the far side of the property the Crawley crypt stood open and waiting.</p><p>In a team of six wagonettes and carriages, they made a semi-circle around the grave and watched as the Dowager’s coffin was laid next to her deceased husband’s. When the marble slab was slid over her, sealing her forever in her tomb, a cold wind swept the clearing and took with it several darkened leaves.</p><p> </p><p>They returned to the house, and from there the staff were allowed a few moments to congregate upstairs by Lord Grantham’s instruction. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot, as if he’d been in a battle with a prickly bush and lost.</p><p> </p><p>From the far edge of the main hall, Thomas watched as drinks were served by catered staff whom Carson had hired for the occasion. The maids were given no quarter, and were in their black and whites as they offered refreshments about the room. The upper members of staff, however, congregated in a neat little throng while the Crawley’s accepted a line of well-wishers.</p><p>They passed single file, black and lacy with tear soaked handkerchiefs.</p><p>“My deepest condolences to you all,” said a man whom Thomas recognized as a Marquess of some other.</p><p>“She was a saint, and is amongst her kingdom,” Said another woman, whom Thomas could not rightly place with a name.</p><p>Then came Lady Bagshaw, who clasped her cousin’s hands in friendship.</p><p>“We never liked each other,” she said. Thomas rather admired her for telling the truth. “But I am sorry that she’s dead.”</p><p>“Many people argued with my grandmother,” Lady Mary agreed. “But she liked you.”</p><p>“No she didn’t,” Lady Bagshaw replied kindly. “But we understood one another, and that I suppose is all that can be asked for.”</p><p> </p><p>After that, it was a quiet affair. Most of the mourners were related distantly to the Crawley’s though a few were nothing more than socialites with dirt on the Dowager. No one certainly came up to the staff to ask anything, or give them any respects. For a much as Carson had proclaimed that he’d ‘grown up’ under the Dowager, it was as if he were part of the woodwork. Without a name or money, they were nothing to these people. Not even Tom Branson looked their way.</p><p> </p><p>It was despicable.</p><p> </p><p>“Pray silence for a few words for the deceased,” Father Travis commanded. A hush fell over the crowd with ease, as most people had barely been whispering to one another. Near the back, Thomas kept to the shadows and sipped mildly upon his wine.</p><p>Lord Grantham, blood shot and bleary, fiddled a bit with his sodden handkerchief before speaking up. He did not look like he wanted to talk, and Thomas despised that he was being made to perform like some kind of monkey for the sake of the others. Was it not enough to grieve in private? Why did everyone have to make a scene?</p><p>Lord Grantham swallowed after a moment of trying to speak. When he finally did, he sounded like a hollow and broken man.</p><p>“My mother was an exceptional woman of class and grace. She was a continuous presence in this village and county, presiding over it both in times of famine and feast. Her courage and kindness will not, must not, ever be forgotten… particularly in these trying times.”</p><p><em>Her courage and kindness? </em>Thomas had never known the woman to be either.</p><p>“I can only hope, as her son, to continue to put forward the same amount of humanitarian effort as she did.”</p><p>A few people in the crowd, mostly upper-class women who’d never worked a day in their lives, were beginning to snivel. It was possible that a few were actually mourning her, but Thomas had a feeling that this sort of display was meant for public appearances only. They’d all go home at the end of the day and none of their grandmother’s would be dead.</p><p><em>What a display, </em>Thomas thought irritably.</p><p>“Thank you all for being here today, and for celebrating her beloved memory with us…” Lord Grantham wiped his eyes (a shocking move that stirred a whisper from the audience) before sniffing and looking about to find the staff in the back corner.</p><p>Thomas wondered what was on his mind.</p><p>“Barrow,” Lord Grantham addressed him. Thomas bristled, standing to attention and straightening his posture as all eyes turned towards him. How he despised being called out in this way! “Perhaps as the head of my staff, you might like to say something on their behalf for the Dowager?”</p><p><em>Fuck, </em>Thomas felt a bead of sweat glistening upon his temple. He was utterly tongue tied, thrust onto the spot with nothing to summon. He didn’t have the ability to false sympathies for a woman whom he’d never known or liked. But for every second that he stood there, sweating in his spats, the upper class began to view him with disgust and contempt.</p><p><em>“Of course he doesn’t care,” </em>their eyes seemed to say <em>“He’s one of the poor. Their lot don’t understand grief.” </em></p><p>“..Mr. Carson,” Thomas did not even look at the man, instead turning his face just so, so that it appeared that they were speaking. “Given that you grew up underneath the Dowager, and were the butler of this house for decades before I arrived, I believe you would be able to sum up her memory and her love for the staff best.”</p><p>“Thank you, Mr. Barrow,” Mr. Carson’s tones were clipped but polite, and an enormous weight slid off of Carson’s shoulders as he began to wax and wane poetics.</p><p>As Thomas took a step back, and allowed himself to once again slip into the nameless throng of the staff, he felt like he’d dodged a bullet in the trenches of Ypres. However, as he dared to glance left at Mrs. Hughes and Baxter, he found them both looking disappointed. As a matter of fact, all the staff were staring at him as if he’d committed an offense.</p><p><em>Oh joy, </em>Thomas thought.</p><p> </p><p>Carson spent ten minutes spreading a creamy blanket of soothing lower class adoration upon the funeral procession. He compared the Dowager to a saint, and swore that caring for her every whim had been nothing short of a dream. The speech was so nauseous that Thomas blocked it out mentally and instead spent his time staring at the thread count of an orange sofa near the fireplace. Was it just his imagination or did the fabric look faded near the heat? He’d have to get it cared for, lest it fall into a state of disuse. He then started going through a list in his head of all the people he could call to fix the sofa, and which one was more likely to have a better price. By the time that he was finished, so was Carson, and the staff were given leave to depart for the downstairs.</p><p> </p><p>Thomas went first and held the door open for everyone else as they passed. He was the last one to leave the main hall, and so he was also the last one to notice Lord Grantham crying in the corner again.</p><p> </p><p>It seemed that Carson’s words had moved the man to tears, which was a shocking display of affection that Thomas did not know how to process.</p><p> </p><p>He went downstairs, wishing he could simply tug off his tie and go up to the attics for a nap. When he reached the basement, he found the staff huddled in the servant’s hall looking both put out and heavily annoyed. They were buzzing in the same way that bees might before attacking in a swarm, and Thomas had been in enough hot situations with them to know that he was about to be grilled.</p><p>Bitter, he confronted them all with the same anger and menacing authority that he had assumed during Baxter’s reveal.</p><p>“What?” Thomas demanded of them all. “What’s going on?”</p><p>Mrs. Hughes harrumphed; arms folded over her chest. “Did you have to be so cold in front of the public?” She demanded. “You should have said something!”</p><p>But even as Thomas opened his mouth to defend himself and his decision, Mr. Carson stormed out of Thomas’ office with a look of fiery determination upon his face.</p><p>“Mr. Barrow, I wish to speak to you in private immediately,” Mr. Carson gestured towards Thomas’ office at the far end of the hall. Thomas, however, refused to budge. Hands on hips he fixed the man with a look of disappointment.</p><p>“Is this because I decided not to speak for the staff at the funeral?” Thomas asked.</p><p>He spluttered, red in the cheeks, and stood there for a moment quivering upon the spot as if wondering if it would be better to drag Thomas forcibly into the butler’s pantry or just have it out with him in the hall while everybody was watching. In the end, it seemed that Carson realized he could no longer drag Thomas about by the elbow and get him to do what he wanted. So they were just going to have to fight in the hall like the dogs they were.</p><p>“You are her son’s butler!” Mr. Carson spoke each word with venom, “And yet you could not summon up a single kind word in her memory! The level of arrogance and cruelty in your actions astounds me-“</p><p>“Spare me your dramatics,” Thomas snapped. “I made the right decision and you know it. You said it well enough this morning on the cart, that you grew up under her and you loved her more. Why shouldn’t you be the one to speak?”</p><p>“Because you are the head of staff!” Carson retorted.</p><p>A dry, humorless weak little laugh escaped Thomas. A sort of wheezing gasping thing that held no body. He sighed, his voice dipping from high to low, a bitchy smile resting at the corners of his lips. He laughed again, looking back around to Baxter who was still fretting nervously by the fireplace.</p><p>She knew his laugh, and what it meant.</p><p>He looked back to Carson, still smiling. “Okay, let me see…”</p><p>Thomas held up a finger on each hand, asking for an involuntary pause. “Let me see…” He licked his lips, looked down at the ground, then back up with Carson, with his fingers still in the air.</p><p>“You took over the royal visit,” Thomas counted each offense on his hands, “You took over the funeral. You told me that you didn’t want me messing this up. That I couldn’t be trusted to conduct the service as she dictated. And yet now, when I gave you the right to speak as the head of the staff—which you still claim to be, despite being retired—I’m in the wrong? Which one is it, Mr. Carson? Am I the butler or not? Am I in charge, or not? Am I supposed to be the head of staff, OR NOT?!” Thomas shouted the last two words.</p><p>Carson bristled, spluttering for a moment. It seemed that Thomas had struck a very deep nerve, and it had served to rattle the man. Behind Thomas, back, Mrs. Hughes let out an enormous sigh of exhaustion.</p><p>“I… You should have been the one to speak,” Mr. Carson refused to answer any of Thomas’ question.</p><p>“Why?!” Thomas would not let him get away so easily. “Why am I the one to speak?”</p><p>“Because you are the head of staff!”</p><p>“And so why did you conduct the funeral and not me?!”</p><p>“Because I knew how to handle it better!”</p><p>“So why didn’t you need to be the one to speak if you knew how to handle it better?!”</p><p>“Because I am not the head of staff!”</p><p>“MARY MOTHER OF GOD!” Thomas roared. In a fit of rage, he grabbed a chair from the table and chucked it into the hallway where it fell in a crash of legs. He heard Mrs. Patmore let out a little shriek of shock.</p><p>“Excuse me!”</p><p> </p><p>Before Thomas and Carson could begin to fight each other tooth and nail, the voice of a highly irate Lady Grantham gave everyone pause. Thomas and Carson both looked around, shocked to see Lady Grantham at the base of the stairs not even two feet away from the chair. She even dared, in her funeral best, to bend over and right it so that it now sat upon its legs and not on its side.</p><p><em>Christ, </em>Thomas thought, <em>I’ve put my foot in it now. </em></p><p>Carson straightened his tie, shuddering with each breath he took. Thomas wiped his hair out of his face, trying his best to regain a hold of his temperature. Albert meekly brought the chair back into the servant’s hall, and like an olive branch slid it between Thomas and Carson so that it now divided them from each other.</p><p>Lady Grantham was still furious, and it showed upon her pointed face and wrinkled cheeks. “What on earth is going on here?” She demanded. Though she didn’t raise her voice, she as good as screamed for the anger her words contained. “This sort of shouting and fighting is not something that we tolerate in this house, particularly in a time of mourning.”</p><p>Carson opened his mouth to say something, but in a shocking move of defense Mrs. Hughes cut him off.</p><p>“Mr. Carson and Mr. Barrow were arguing, and grew passionate in their conversation, ma’am,” Mrs. Hughes said. “Neither of them are prone to such antics, but… we’re all feeling a bit stressed.”</p><p>“Please do not let it bother you, M’lady,” Thomas ground out. “The staff are not compromised in their ability to care for the family, and that is all that matters.”</p><p>“Is it,” Lady Grantham said, in a voice that made it clear she did not agree. “I wonder…” She sighed, regained her composure, and spoke again. “Very well, if it will cease the shouting, then I wish to speak to you and Mrs. Hughes in private. I have something to discuss of great importance.” At this, she turned, and made her way towards the butler’s pantry.</p><p>Thomas looked back to Carson, whose face had turned a queer sour apple green.</p><p>“Oh what a shame,” He sneered. “Looks like I’m back to being the butler, but don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll find another excuse soon enough. Take off your coat, stay a while. Have a cup of tea. Why not move into my bedroom while you’re at it, we can be bunkmates-“</p><p>“Thomas,” Mrs. Hughes snapped.</p><p>He bit his tongue, side-stepped Carson, and continued down the hall. As he left, he heard Mrs. Hughes mutter nastily to Mr. Carson.</p><p>“Clean up your act, Charlie, that made neither of you look good.”</p><p>So at least he alone wasn’t the villain.</p><p> </p><p>As Thomas entered into the butler’s pantry, he found Lady Grantham waiting there with a slightly disappointed expression. He was followed quickly by Mrs. Hughes, who shut the door behind her so that they were given a semblance of privacy. Thomas took his seat behind his desk, and Mrs. Hughes offered Lady Grantham the visitor’s chair so that she might sit. She did so, took off her gloves, and then spoke.</p><p>“Why did you throw that chair?” She asked. “Why were you arguing with Carson like that?”</p><p>“they always argue, M’lady,” Mrs. Hughes complained. “This is nothing new.”</p><p>“Carson is the elder statesman…” Thomas drawled. “I am the butler. The boundaries of both jobs are unclear at times like these. How may we be of assistance?”</p><p>It was obvious that she wanted to ask more questions, but she didn’t. Instead, she regained her sense of composure and played a bit with her gloves upon her lap. She seemed nervous somehow.</p><p>“It’s about the staff,” Lady Grantham said. “Now that Anna has left to work on the hotel with Mr. Bates, and Ms. Baxter is getting married, I would like Ms. Baxter to begin taking on the role of housekeeper so that Mrs. Hughes can retire. If she wants to.”</p><p>Mrs. Hughes was taken aback. “I…” and it was clear she really did not want to. “I can’t retire M’lady. I have a sister who requires medical care. I need all the money I can get.”</p><p>“Well I don’t see why we can’t take care of that,” Mrs. Hughes assured. “We won’t let anything happen to your sister, Mrs. Hughes, I promise you. Would you like to retire if that’s the case?”</p><p>“… Not really, M’lady. Have I done something wrong?” She wondered, and she sounded wounded.</p><p>“Can they take the role together, M’lady?” Thomas offered. “Maybe Ms. Baxter could be Mrs. Hughes’ assistant?”</p><p>“Well…” Lady Grantham thought about it for a moment, eyes narrowed as she considered the implications. “I don’t see why not. And in time, when you are ready to retire, Baxter will be able to take over easily. Don’t you think?”</p><p>“Certainly, M’lady,” But it was clear that this entire conversation had made Mrs. Hughes deeply uneasy. Perhaps it was a reminder of her mortality, and the fact that she was technically getting on in years. “But then, who would serve you?”</p><p>“Well, that’s just it,” And once again, Lady Grantham was back to sounding nervous. “I want to bring on a new member of staff, well… not exactly new.”</p><p><em>Oh fuck, </em>Thomas thought, remembering how Lady Grantham had spoken fleetingly of O’Brien. <em>Do not say it, do not say it. </em></p><p>“Who are you thinking of M’lady,” Thomas asked. He unknowingly began to clench his jaw so that his teeth ground together.</p><p>“An old friend of mine is in great need,” Lady Grantham said. “She’s living on the streets and will surely die a wretch if I don’t help her.”</p><p>“Who are we speaking of?” Mrs. Hughes wondered.</p><p>“… Sarah O’Brien,” Lady Grantham said.</p><p>Mrs. Hughes drew in a gasp of shock, unable to stop herself. She looked from Lady Grantham to Thomas, horrified.</p><p>“… Yes I thought you might react that way,” Lady Grantham whispered.</p><p>Mrs. Hughes made several noises like a small animal being trodden on.  Across the table, Thomas did his best to keep a servant’s blank but it was growing increasingly hard. He and Mrs. Hughes were locked in a staring battle, each one begging the other to do or say something, anything, to stop this madness.</p><p>“I want her to return and work for me,” Lady Grantham said.</p><p>“Oh god in heaven,” Mrs. Hughes blurted out. She turned away, disgusted.</p><p>“Mrs. Hughes,” Lady Grantham said reproachfully. But Mrs. Hughes still wouldn’t look at her.</p><p>“I thought she’d left for India, M’lady. I recall her sneaking out in the middle of the night. Not exactly a nice way to go,” Thomas mused. Lady Grantham gave up Mrs. Hughes for lost, and instead spoke to him.</p><p>“She was in India, but she was let go. Apparently, Lady Flintshire lost her fortune and could no longer keep on her staff. O’Brien was stuck in India for some time until she made her way back to England. She’s been living hand to mouth for a while, and she’s been terribly put upon. She’s been reduced to begging. I found her the other day in London, and I was heartbroken to see her in such a state. So, I told her I’d look for her a place to work. And now that Anna and Baxter are in different positions, I think we have one readymade. She already knows how the house works, and my particulars. We know that she’s well-qualified for the role. Correct?”</p><p>Neither Thomas nor Mrs. Hughes answered her straight away.</p><p>Mrs. Hughes, in her desperation for normalcy, turned to Thomas. She gestured silently at him, seemingly to plead <em>“Fix this for god’s sake.” </em>But Thomas was underneath no illusions when it came to the Crawley’s and their supposed understanding. They were glorified slaves in these gloomy times.</p><p>“M’lady…” Thomas tried not to sound patronizing, but it was hard. “O’Brien has a reputation that you cannot ignore, and her past actions have painted her in a very poor light downstairs.”</p><p>“I think the same could be said of you,” Lady Grantham replied rather coldly. “I still don’t understand how you became butler after so many years of causing trouble on the staff.”</p><p>The placid smile on Thomas’ face hid his acidic retort that was on the tip of his tongue.</p><p>“Fine,” Thomas said, with no intention of pretending to be polite. “Do what you want.” He spread his hands in defeat. “Mrs. Hughes, I’ll leave the rest for you.”</p><p>Irritated, Lady Grantham looked to Mrs. Hughes for support. She found absolutely none waiting for you.</p><p>“… If this is what you want, then I have no choice but to make it happen,” Mrs. Hughes’ tone was bordering on cold, which was rather shocking since she rarely made her displeasure known to the Crawley clan. “But I am not happy about this, not at all. And no one else will be happy about it either. That horrible woman is not welcome in this house.”</p><p>“She’s welcome if I say she’s welcome.” Was Lady Grantham’s ugly reply.</p><p>This conversation had started off as an explanation, but with a lack of support it had simply turned into Lady Grantham bullying the staff to get her way. Mrs. Hughes bristled, raised her hands in defeat, and turned away. She walked out, closing the door on the pair of them, leaving Lady Grantham rather surprised. Maybe she was hoping that her iron handed methods would go down easier; unfortunately for her, neither Thomas nor Mrs. Hughes were as coddling or loving as Mr. Carson when it came to the family.</p><p>“I didn’t realize I’d be making such waves. I thought people would be more understanding,” She said. Thomas did not answer her, instead pursing his lips and drumming his fingers upon his desk. He couldn’t very well ask her to leave; had she been anyone less of a countess, he would have shunted her out the door by this point.</p><p>Recomposing herself, Lady Grantham gave a tiny cough and continued on, “I also want to put out an ad for Lord Grantham to have a new valet, but I don’t have an applicant for that.”</p><p>“Is there anything your Ladyship requires?” Thomas asked.</p><p>She pursed her lips, then replied. “No. I’ll return upstairs.”</p><p>And so she did without another word. As the door closed for the second time, Thomas let out an exhausted breath.</p><p> </p><p>The last time that Thomas had seen O’Brien, it had been 1921. He’d been downstairs, taking tea by the fire, and had watched her go up for bed without a word. By that time, they’d sorely hated each other and had gotten to a point where instead of throwing barbed insults or making waves they’d simply lapsed into silence. Left in a comfortable lull where he had not had to think about her for nearly ten years, Thomas was no furious to find that he was back in hot water thanks to Lady Grantham and her <em>civilities. </em></p><p>“Fucking idiot woman,” Thomas muttered nastily under his breath. How he wished he could simply run away and leave this all behind him.</p><p> </p><p>The door slammed back open. Thomas jerked his head up from the desk to find Mrs. Hughes in the doorway, rightly furious.</p><p>“Well!” She snapped, throwing her hands up in the air.</p><p>“Don’t look at me! I didn’t do it!” Thomas complained loudly. Mrs. Hughes kicked the door closed with the heel of her worn shoe.</p><p>“What the hell are we going to do now?!” He’d never heard her curse before; it was slightly disturbing.</p><p>“Exactly what we’re told to do. You heard the empress; we don’t get a say in how this house is run. We empty their piss pots and we thank them on our knees for the opportunity.” Thomas sneered. He leaned back in his swivel chair, so that it squeaked aggressively in complaint.</p><p>“She can’t be serious,” Mrs. Hughes cursed. “What a wicked and brainless thing to do. How could she even think to take back on such a demented traitor? Does she have sense at all?”</p><p>“That’s what inbreeding will do to you,” Thomas joked.</p><p>“And did you see how she sprang that horrible question on me, asking me to retire without my consent!” Mrs. Hughes was livid by this point. “Had she been anyone else-“</p><p>“I’m well aware,” Thomas finished her sentence for her. “To be fair she asked Baxter to ask you a few days ago but… everything got insane with Coyle and the Dowager, it slipped my mind.”</p><p>“Well,” Mrs. Hughes harrumphed. “You, at least, have the tact not to push a sensitive subject.” She slumped into Thomas’ visitor chair, her chinks pink with rage. “What a wicked child she can be…” she whispered.</p><p>For a moment, the pair of them just sat there steaming. As the moments passed, they slowly cooled until Thomas was finally able to break the ice again.</p><p>“Did you really think me wrong for asking Carson to speak?” Thomas asked.</p><p>“Well…” Mrs. Hughes shifted in her chair, slightly uncomfortable. “It just made you look like you didn’t care about the Dowager-“</p><p>“I didn’t,” Thomas confirmed. Mrs. Hughes tutted disapprovingly. “Can you honestly tell me I’m in the wrong when you just had to endure your job and your opinions being scraped raw by her highness? What do you think the Dowager would have said, that would have been any different?”</p><p>“The Dowager would not have been so stupid as to ask such a thing,” Mrs. Hughes rolled her eyes.</p><p>“But…” Thomas held a hand in fair warning. “If she had, and you had rebuked her, do you think she would have been polite about it and listened?”</p><p>For a moment, Mrs. Hughes considered the facts. It was difficult to say what the Dowager might have done in this situation. Thomas hadn’t been aware of her opinions on servant’s, but she had a feeling that she wasn’t too fond of the fact they could read and write. Asking her to give her opinion on a lady’s maid would have been redundant. To the Dowager, a maid had simply been a maid. Meant for abusing, and nothing more.</p><p>“Well…” She shrugged. “Maybe I could ask Anna to come back.”</p><p>“Don’t.” Thomas didn’t like the idea of Anna being punished for O’Brien’s sake. “For god’s sake, she’s been lucky enough to get away from this hell. She’s following her dreams. I think she deserves that after everything she’s been through, don’t you?”</p><p>“I suppose so,” Mrs. Hughes said with a sad little smile. “But I still don’t like it. I feel powerless.”</p><p>“Well… I don’t like it either,” Thomas assured her. “But there’s nothing we can do. We just have to grin and bear it Mrs. Hughes.”</p><p>“I suppose we’ll have to tell the others,” And she looked over her shoulder as if considering doing it in that moment.</p><p>“Let’s wait,” Thomas urged her. “At least until we know the bitch is actually coming.”</p><p>Mrs. Hughes scoffed. “I wish I had your confidence.” At this, she rose out of her chair, and headed back for the door. “I’m going to take a cup of tea in my drawing room. Would you like some?”</p><p>“No thank you,” Thomas gestured to the phone on his desk. “I need to make a phone call.” For if ever there were a moment to seek Richard’s confidence, it was now. Mrs. Hughes nodded and let him be.</p><p> </p><p>As soon as the door was closed, Thomas picked up the telephone and set about with the arduous process of getting connected to Buckingham Palace’s servant’s quarters. Normally, Thomas merely had to ask for Richard Ellis to be connected to him (he supposed someone on the other end must let individual servants know they were being requested on the telephone. Perhaps that was why it was such a shock when a wholly familiar and yet unwelcome voice picked up the phone.</p><p><em>“This is Mr. Wallace,” </em>came the snooty voice of that pompous windbag. Ah yes, the “Page of the Backstairs” whatever the hell that meant.</p><p>“I… I was looking for Mr. Ellis,” Thomas said.</p><p><em>“Mr. Ellis,” </em>Wallace spoke the name like it were a curse, <em>“Has been foolish enough to leave the King’s service. He is no longer here.” </em></p><p>“Has he left a number to reach him at?” Thomas asked. When had Richard left, and why hadn’t he called Thomas before doing so? God only knows where he was now!</p><p><em>“No!” </em>Snapped Mr. Wallace. <em>“And bloody good riddance to bad rubbish.” </em></p><p>At this, the phone was slammed down so that Thomas winced at the sudden static. He blinked, confused, then carefully sat the phone back on its hook.</p><p> </p><p>The rest of the day past in a fog with Thomas unable to concentrate on anything. His mind was a swirling vortex of Richard, and where on earth he might be. He felt like the earth had swallowed him up, leaving nothing for Thomas but the hollow memory of a man he’d once known and a cold pendant. It seemed, more than ever, like a hallucination to him now. Had Richard really ever existed? Had he been here, and offered to take Thomas to York?</p><p> </p><p>That night, Carson bitterly returned to his cottage, having to concede that Thomas was once again in charge. In his wake, he left a shaken family who did not know where to turn, and a staff who were unsure where their authority lay. All of this, which ought to have given Thomas plenty to brood over, instead fell to the wayside as he sat by the fireplace in his favorite rocking chair, wondering where Richard Ellis was.</p><p>So it seemed that Richard had fled Buckingham Palace, and whatever his manor of leaving I had left ill will with Mr. Wallace. He’d warned Thomas he might do such a thing but Thomas hadn’t expected it to be so sudden. Would he go to York, back to his parents? Or would he come straight to Downton Abbey? They’d not made a plan. Thomas hadn’t even spoken to Lord Grantham yet about Richard taking over Bates’ job. How was he supposed to vindicate the man’s presence when he turned up?</p><p> </p><p>Would he even turn up at all?</p><p> </p><p>Melancholy and lonely, Thomas might have sat in silence by the fire till after midnight had he not been interrupted by the sounds of someone puttering around in the kitchen. It was after eleven at night, by the time kept on the mantel clock, and Mrs. Patmore had already shut down the kitchen for the night. Thomas craned his neck to the left, and spotted the hem of a pink housecoat just out of view.</p><p>“Hello?” He called out.</p><p>The housecoat shifted to reveal Baxter holding two cups of a steaming liquid. She smiled and entered the servant’s hall. Thomas relaxed, returning his view to the fireplace.</p><p>“What are you doing up,” Thomas did not even look at her as he spoke. He was too entranced by the methodical popping and clicking of the fire.</p><p>“I couldn’t sleep.” She sat down in the rocker across from him, and in an olive branch offered him a cup of cocoa. It was nice, to sit there and sip on a warm drink after a long and exhausting day. For a moment, the pair of them simply sat and enjoyed the silence, both of them occasionally stirring their cocoa so as to get the powder that lay clogged underneath the heated milk.</p><p>“I think it was well done, the funeral,” Baxter said. “No matter what the others say. You did a good job.”</p><p>He let out an exhausted sigh; though Baxter probably did not know it, her words of kindness and appreciation were far more soothing than any hot cup of cocoa. It felt nice to know that at least one person approved of what he was doing and how he was doing it.</p><p>“Eh… maybe…” He didn’t feel comfortable patting himself on the back just yet. “I did throw a chair.”</p><p>“Well, it needed to be thrown,” Baxter said. She sat down her now empty cup and began to rock methodically. “Carson was out of line. Still, at least it’s all over now.”</p><p>“Yeah…”</p><p>A silence fell between them. At night, when she did not have to keep her hair in shape, Baxter let it lay in curlers. She covered everything with a night cap that looked like it belonged more on Mrs. Hughes. Her housecoat had butterflies sewn onto the hem. It was a frivolous, fanciful thing, and it didn’t seem to suit Baxter who was more salt-of-the-earth type. Thomas had to wonder if it was yet another cast-off.</p><p>“Are you okay?” she asked.</p><p>“No.” Thomas shook his head, continuing to stare into the fire. Should he look at her now, he was certain that she would be able to see right through him into the very depths of his soul and all that sorrow that lay there. “No I’m not. I’m really, really not. And I can’t tell you why, and that’s part of why I’m not okay.” He took another sip of cocoa to stop himself from saying something stupid.</p><p> </p><p>For a moment, Baxter considered her options and watched him sulk. Like a thief cracking into a difficult lock, she had to pick the right tool for the job. “You know, Mrs. Hughes told me the other day that she caught you drinking whiskey. Or at least, she smelt it all over you.”</p><p>“Yep,” Thomas let the ‘p’ pop on his lips.</p><p>“At first, I thought it funny,” Baxter said. “Because that sounded like something your father would have done. And you know what they say about apples and trees. But then I remembered something rather interesting.”</p><p>“Go on?” Thomas finally looked at her, setting his cup aside.</p><p>“You loathe your father, and you don’t drink whiskey,” Baxter deduced.</p><p>It was a particularly good deduction, and one that Thomas could not deny. Save for smoking the same brand of cigarettes his father had, Thomas seldom was in line with his old man’s way of thinking. Whiskey had always reminded him of his father, and even though Christopher’s whiskey had tasted quite good, it still wasn’t enough for him to shake the awful memory of his father being a sloven drunk during the day.</p><p>“I was looking through the paper again,” Baxter said. “I keep reading it even though I’ve scoured it what feels like a hundred times, and… a detail stuck out at me.” She shifted a bit, leaning in her chair so that she could speak in a softened whisper to Thomas. This was slightly over the top because no one else was up, but maybe she wanted to offer him an extra layer of protection for his own peace of mind.</p><p>“One of the criminals it mentions, runs a whiskey drive,” She said. “Christopher Webster. And it also says that he’s inverted. And you said that you knew someone on the inside… and you were asking them questions.”</p><p>He bowed his head, soundly defeated. Why couldn’t he have an idiot for a best friend, who didn’t poke into his affairs, and let him well enough alone?</p><p><em>Because then you’d be dead, </em>a nasty voice whispered in the back of his head, which was quite astute since Baxter had been the one to realize something was amiss and find him in the tub.</p><p>“I’m right, aren’t I-“</p><p>“Course you bloody are,” he cut her off with a mutter. She didn’t mind him cursing, it seemed she could gather his irritation was not actually for her.</p><p>“So, he’s the one,” Baxter said. “The man on the inside.”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“What did he say?” Baxter asked. “Have you talked to him about me?”</p><p>Christ, there was a bag of cats he didn’t want to unwrap. The more Thomas thought about everything that Christopher had said, the more he felt certain it had to have been a lie. He couldn’t look at Baxter, all gentle and kind, and imagine her beating out the brains of another woman. It just didn’t seem possible.</p><p>“He said a lot of things,” Thomas said. “None of which I believe.”</p><p>She smiled, relaxing back into her chair. “Try me,” She said with a kind voice. “I’ll tell you the truth, if you tell me the truth. We’re friends, aren’t we? We can be honest with each other. You know my sins and I know yours.”</p><p>Wasn’t that the truth.</p><p>“Communication is such a healthy thing,” Thomas mused, “It’s like taking a vitamin,” And the pair of them laughed a bit at the absurdity of it all. After taking a deep sigh, Thomas wrestled himself up to gain the nerve to ask the questions he knew he must. “I’m going to ask you something truly awful.”</p><p>“I’m ready,” She said. “It’s not awful if it’s coming from you.”</p><p>“First of all… were you ever pregnant?” Thomas asked.</p><p>“Yes,” She answered him so naturally, so kindly, like he wasn’t picking at a festering wound upon her soul. “Yes I was. I was about six months along, and I lost it in a fight with a woman who was secretly working for the police. She tried to have us arrested, and I managed to help Coyle escape, but it cost me the baby.”</p><p>For a moment, the pair of them were absolutely silent. The weight of her words, and what it all meant, felt like bricks upon both their chests. Christ in heaven, why had things gone so wrong for the pair of them? How had they got so convoluted in their own disasters?</p><p>“It nearly destroyed me,” Baxter said, “and six months later, when I saw the woman again on the high street, I followed her until she went into an alleyway… and I took up a pipe, and I beat her within an inch of her life. I nearly killed her, and I only stopped when I heard a police whistle. I got away but… I never forgot the look on her face when she stared up at me. She was expecting to die. I don’t even know if she lived after that. I never saw her again. There was no mention of it in the papers. Coyle tried to console me; said I’d done the right thing… but… I’ll never forget that look. The look of someone being utterly terrified of me.”</p><p>Though it was not in his nature to be emotionally open, Thomas reached out and took Baxter by the hand. He squeezed her, trying to convey in the touch all that he felt. All the love and compassion that lay inside him for her.</p><p>“I am so goddamn sorry,” he whispered, and he meant every word. Maybe she knew that. Maybe that was why she smiled despite the pain she surely felt.</p><p>“So am I,” she agreed. “I just… it got so out of hand so quickly. I couldn’t save the baby. Coyle was heartbroken. It drove us both to madness-“</p><p>“Hey-“ He reached out with both hands, cupping her face so that she had no choice but to look to him and see the compassion in his eyes. “this is not your fault,” he whispered. “Do not even begin to think that. It’s his fault, he put you in a horrible situation and he ran away. Why didn’t he fight off the woman? Why didn’t he protect you when you were pregnant with his child?”</p><p>“Because he was the one in most danger, and he ran way.” Baxter said.</p><p>Thomas scoffed, disgusted. He could not imagine such cowardice possible in the world. “He abandoned you and your baby to die, to take the fall for him. What a bastard.”</p><p>She looked down, so Thomas let his hands fall till they rested upon her knees again. With timid hands, she reached out and took his own so that the pair of them were intimately bound in that quiet moment.</p><p>She swallowed around a knot in her throat, tears in her eyes.</p><p>“I can do no wrong in your eyes, no matter what I say?” she asked. “Why? Why don’t you see that I’m a bad person?”</p><p>“Oh Phyllis…” He could laugh at the absurdity of it all. “You are not a bad person. You are an incredibly good person, who many bad things have happened to. And I’ll never stop reminding you of that, until the day I get plucked off this earth.”</p><p>“We’ll probably go to hell together,” She wondered.</p><p>“Probably,” Thomas agreed. “But we’ll be together, and isn’t that what matters the most?”</p><p>She smiled, and slowly nodded. Though her eyes glistened, tears did not fall. It seemed she was too happy to cry.</p><p>After a moment, allowing the emotion of the conversation to fall back a little, she asked, “How do you know Webster?”</p><p>A truth deserved a truth. “Do you remember the night I went to York with Mr. Ellis?”</p><p>“I do,” She said.</p><p>“We agree to meet at a bar, after he’d finished visiting his parents.” How funny, Thomas found himself transported to that night. He could almost see Christopher at the bar, and how he’d stared at Thomas with such longing. “But… he was taking longer than he’d told me would, so I was just sitting there like an idiot. Just… waiting. And then I saw Christopher across the bar, making eyes at me. I couldn’t believe the audacity of the man, in front of all those normal men. But… he was so entrancing. He had this pull about him. It was animalistic.”</p><p>Baxter had the nerve to grin. Thomas sucked on his teeth, leaning back irritably in his chair.</p><p>“Don’t,” he grumbled. She tried not to smile but Thomas could tell she was still smug.</p><p>“I just think it’s nice someone showed you some attention.”</p><p>“It gets worse,” He scoffed. “He comes over, and introduces himself. I tell him I’m waiting for somebody. But he convinces me that Mr. Ellis had decided he wanted to do other things, and that if he really wanted to be with me in that bar, he would already be there-“</p><p>“Aww, you got schmoozed,” She teased. “How cute.”</p><p>“How dare you,” He muttered. “So I agreed, and he told me to come with him… to a place named… Turpins.”</p><p>And just like that, all the joy vanished from Baxter’s face.</p><p>It had been on the cusp of Mrs. Hughes’ tongue for a while now, and Thomas knew that Baxter had undoubtably read the papers too. The name Turpins was associated with homosexuality, and the terrible police raid that had ensued. There was no way now for him to easily deny his involvement, or how it had shaped him. Baxter probably knew that, which would explain the look of horror on her pale face.</p><p>“Oh no,” she whispered.</p><p>Oh no, indeed.</p><p>“I’d never heard of it…” Thomas bowed his head. “Course, I’d never heard of it, I’m so fucking repressed.”</p><p>For a moment, Thomas could not go on. Transported back to that awful moment in time when the doors had been blown open by the police, Thomas felt sapped of all his strength.</p><p>“He showed me-“ But Thomas didn’t feel that even with Baxter, such things could be spoken aloud. He didn’t know if even she could dare to understand how aroused and delighted Thomas had been, to be packed in a room full of other gay men. To know that they were gay, to know that they knew that he was gay. To be so full of light and laughter, so open, that he was flying like a bird on a wing.</p><p>“…the door opened…” but he had to stop again.</p><p>For a moment the pair of them sat in silence until Baxter reached out and touched his knee. This action almost served as a go-ahead. A silent understanding between the pair of them that she knew exactly what he was talking about and why it was so hard to say.</p><p> </p><p>“There were so many of them. Dancing, smiling, laughing… it felt like heaven to me, you know?” He wondered. She nodded but said nothing. “He asked me to dance with him. I was so stupid, I forgot how the world worked. When the doors busted open and the police flooded in, we were all taken away.”</p><p>She let out a long sigh, closing her eyes. For a moment, neither of them spoke. It seemed they simply didn’t know what to say to one another.</p><p> </p><p>“He held me in jail,” Thomas said. “Told me we’d be alright. And then, like some goddamn hero out of a children’s tale, Richard Ellis appears. Richard Ellis, who followed me to the bar. And he apparently whipped out his personal calling card, showed it to the sergeant. Said he was a member of the royal household.”</p><p>“They must have loved that,” Baxter scoffed.</p><p>“Next thing I know, they’re entering the cell and dragging me out. Flinging me into the street without my hat even being on my head. But Christopher…. Well… he didn’t have anyone come rescue him, did he?”</p><p>She stared at him, her brown eyes so soft at the center. It was as if this conversation had peeled back the layers of her soul and allowed her to see him clearly for the first time in a long time.</p><p>“I’ve never told anyone this,” He said.</p><p>“I believe it.”</p><p>So  he supposed there was nothing left to do but tell the rest, and get the whole truth out on the table.</p><p>“The day of Daisy and Andy’s wedding, when I went out into the graveyard, he was there.” Thomas explained. Baxter nodded, enraptured by his tale. “I was shocked, despite what I’d read in the paper. I mean, I knew he’d broken out of jail but I didn’t know he’d come to find me. And he tells me that I was the only thing that kept him going. That he killed those men for me.”</p><p>“Thomas-“ She admonished, clearly wanting to say more. He stopped her.</p><p>“He’s in love with me,” He explained. “But I can’t love him back. I wish I could, but I can’t.”</p><p>“Why not?” she asked.</p><p> “Because I’m in love with someone else,” he said, and that was the sorry truth of it. “I’m torn between the two of them, and I can’t be unfaithful to either. I won’t. But he killed for me. He went to jail for me. He’s sacrificed so much for me, so why can’t I just sacrifice a little bit for him? I suppose it’s because I’m horribly selfish-“</p><p>But at this, Baxter became animated. She reached out and grabbed his knee, forcing him to be quiet. “No!” She said, and she spoke with such authority that he was compelled to listen. This wasn’t the first time that she’s spoken to him passionately, but it was the first time that she’d seemed to be gripped by the force of reason and justice instead of fear and regret.</p><p> </p><p>“Thomas, listen to me,” She implored. “He decided to take you that night, a complete stranger, to a dangerous place. You didn’t know it existed. You didn’t ask to be arrested. You didn’t make that decision. He put you in danger, don’t you see? He wound up in jail because he made those mistakes, not because of you. I know what it is to point a gun at a policeman. He made that decision to save himself. It had nothing to do with you, or anything that he might feel for you. He wanted to break out of prison, and he knew the only way he’d be able to do it would be to kill a policeman, so he did it. End of story. Maybe now he’s hoping you two can have a second chance, but you were already waiting for Richard at that bar. Richard went after you when you went to Turpins. Richard broke you out of jail. Christopher’s missed his chance; for better or for worse, Richard found you first and that’s just the way that it is.”</p><p> </p><p>Well, that put him in his place, didn’t it.</p><p> </p><p>She had a point, and he couldn’t deny it: Christopher had put him in danger. Danger was fun, and it had shown him a world he didn’t think could rightly exist. But Thomas had never asked to go to such a place, and he had to wonder would he have agreed if he’d been asked flat outright? Or would he have been too scared to go? He supposed that he might have asked a lot of questions and been frightened to be there without a solid way out the back. That was essentially what had gone wrong at Turpin’s. They’d been pinned in like animals from all corners, and there had been nowhere to run.  He also had to admit that Baxter was right when it came to Christopher shooting the policeman. It was nice and flowery to imagine that his love for Thomas had guided those bullets, but in truth it probably happened so fast that the man hadn’t had time to think until it was all over. Thomas had been in the trenches; he knew what it felt like to get shot at. You didn’t have time to daydream or think about the ones you loved. Thomas also had to admit that Baxter painted a rather pretty picture by insisting that Richard had ‘found him first’. It made him feel like he wasn’t so alone. Like Richard had saved him, swooping in from Camelot and riding him off on a white horse. The truth though, like Christopher’s bout with the police, was much less flowery.</p><p>“You make it sound like it were more than it was,” Thomas mumbled.</p><p>She rubbed his arm, settling back into her chair. “Alright, don’t say it yet,” She decided. “But I think we both now that it was. After all you said that you were in love with someone else.”</p><p>“I can’t.” and he couldn’t. After all that he’d endured: his father, Carson, William, Edward, Jimmy, Andy, and now this? He simply couldn’t anymore. “Not yet. Not until….” But he did not know what the ‘until’ properly held. Until he could be open with his love? Until he saw Richard again and could confirm what he suspected?</p><p>In short, he had no way to put into words what Baxter needed to hear. So he summed it up with a final, “I can’t.”</p><p>And he supposed that might have been the perfect time for her to give him a rendition of why he could, and how he ought to, and what he was missing out on by holding back. But instead, Baxter did something much more comforting.</p><p>She said, “I understand… and I always will.”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Two Knocks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Andy and Daisy return to the abbey, and bring with them new topics of conversation such as Daisy's thighs being sexually arousing, and Thomas' potential career as a whore.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>no warnings for this chapter, save for Thomas saying the word 'fuck' and thinking that alcohol can't hurt a developing fetus (time period relevant).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A week passed, and with its close came the return of Andy and Daisy. In lieu of their absence, the abbey had felt almost like it was on pause. All social visits had frozen, and Lord Grantham no longer entertained after dinner. In fact, he hardly ever came down to dinner at all and instead preferred to eat in the library alone with the dog. The Dowager Countess had been a near constant visitor at the abbey, with the blue room often kept ready for her arrival. The lack of her barbarous wit and bitter scowl made the abbey feel like a puzzle missing a center piece. At times, as Thomas went about his daily duties, he could swear that she was only just one room away, complaining to Lady Mary about the state of affairs or demanding to know why the housemaids were putting out flowers that ‘looked like they’d been drained from a swamp’. He wondered if her vulturous spirit would end up haunting the house (god, he hoped not).</p><p>Andy and Daisy arrived back home on a cool Sunday afternoon, close to the hour for tea. In a strike from tradition, the family had declined to go to church that day so the entire house had been rather laid back. A little party had been put together for the newlywed’s arrival, with streamers of pink and white being tacked to the walls and a bowl full of punch poured into an old ceramic basin. Thomas instructed for the tables to be pushed back so that everyone could have room to congregate. Mrs. Patmore put out a few of Andy and Daisy’s favorite dishes, which leant a homey atmosphere to the proceedings. Unlike when Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes had returned from their honeymoon, the family did not deign it necessary to come downstairs. So when Andy and Daisy finally arrived, brought home by Mr. Mason on his wagonette, they were greeted solely by the staff (though the welcome was no less warm). The only missing member was Mr. Carson, who in an attempt to keep normalcy and help the staff, had decided to remain upstairs to assist the family with anything that they might need while the proceedings occurred. This allowed for Thomas and Mrs. Hughes to relax, knowing that the family was tended to.</p><p>Daisy was flushed and beaming, showing off her wedding ring to anyone who passed. In a dress of sunny yellow and her bobbed hair newly pressed, she seemed a girl reborn. There was a mirthful twinkle in her eyes as she told Anna and Mrs. Patmore all about her married life. Though she’d only been married a week, she talked like she’d been married a decade. She wanted to show everyone the new hairband that Andy had bought her in Liverpool through a magazine, and kept insisting that she was ‘glowing’.</p><p>Andy, for his part, just seemed winded but not in a bad way. In fact, he was smiling blissfully and kept glancing over his shoulder at Daisy with the most dopey grin upon his face. He was flushed, just like she was, and his hair was rather askew.</p><p>Thomas had to wonder if they’d been up to something in the wagonette, but he doubted it with Mr. Mason so close by. No one would be <em>that </em>stupid, not even Andy Parker.</p><p>“So, Andy…” Bates regarded him like he were his own son. “How do you like married life?”</p><p>“Oh it’s something!” He teased. The other men laughed at this, or rather all save Thomas who was slightly confused as to what was so amusing.</p><p>“Did you have a nice time in Liverpool?” Moseley asked.</p><p>At this, Andy swaggered a bit, grinning from ear to ear as he proclaimed. “Oh we did. We really did.”</p><p>“Where did you go?”</p><p>“Ha!” Andy shrugged with that same smug smile. “WE never left the hotel.”</p><p>And at this, the men just kept cackling. Fully realizing that they were speaking about sex, and at that sex with a woman, Thomas felt his stomach churn.</p><p>“I’m going to vomit,” He declared. He turned away, thinking perhaps he could isolate himself in the wine cellar and throw up in a corner until Andy drug him right back into the conversation with a hand on his shoulder.</p><p>“Ey!” Andy chided warmly. “If you were in my shoes, I’d be happy for you!”</p><p>“I am happy for you,” Thomas sneered, “Blissfully happy.” This was of course slightly a lie. He was glad that Andy and Daisy were settled but he certainly didn’t want to go over the details of their sex life. Perhaps emboldened by the punch, Andy leaned in and said:</p><p>“You ought to give it a try,” Andy even added. “It’ll change your life!”</p><p>Thomas was back to wanting to throw up. “Andrew, I suggest you stop now,” He warned with an ugly tone. Across from Thomas, Bates caught Andy’s eyes and gave him a knowing look.</p><p><em>Stop now, </em>he seemed to be saying.</p><p>Slightly cowed, Andy reeled himself in before he made another mistake by getting too familiar.</p><p>“Well, I still want to thank you for not calling us the night of the Dowager’s death,” Andy said. “Truly, it means a lot that you stuck your neck out for us during that time. I know Mr. Carson was angry at you but Daisy doesn’t give a fig about the family and neither do I really.”</p><p>It was good to know he had company on the ‘sod the Crawleys’ wagon. He took a sip of wine, “I had no intention of waking you up-“</p><p>“Oh, we weren’t asleep.” Andy said, and once again the laughter was back.</p><p>“Oh, for god’s sake,” Thomas moaned, looking up to the ceiling in silent prayer.</p><p><em>Make him shut up, </em>he begged. Unfortunately, God didn’t seem to be listening.</p><p>“Tell you what,” Andy was starting to blush. He looked over his shoulder to where Daisy was talking animatedly to Anna and Mrs. Patmore. “I’ve had one heck of an education when it comes to women.”</p><p>Bates nudged him in the rubs. “Glad to hear you’ve passed the test.” The others laughed, but Thomas just rolled his eyes. He wondered if it would be too crass of him to start on his third glass of wine.</p><p>“I shouldn’t tell you this,” But it was clear Andy was going to tell anyone who would listen. He leaned in, so that he could speak more intimately with the other men. Thomas was drug into the circle unwillingly and grimaced as Andy continued on. “But she is amazing. She does this thing with her thighs-“</p><p>Alright this was stopping <em>right the bloody hell now- </em></p><p>“Andy-“ Thomas snapped, jerking back from the other men who were laughing hysterically now like it was all some kind of amusing game to annoy him with tales of Daisy’s naked body. “I have the ability to go into the staff security box and pull out any amount of money for your salary this upcoming year that you wish. I will pay you everything in full, right now, just to have you shuttup.”</p><p>Bates nearly spat out his wine, laughing too hard to get it down. Andy was giggling, unable to stop as Thomas’ sour expression became more and more animated.</p><p>“Look at his face-“ Bates couldn’t resist.</p><p>“Imagine it Andy,” Thomas talked over him. “Thirty pounds, in your pocket right now.”</p><p>“Well,” Andy teased, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “You didn’t give me a present, did you?”</p><p>Yet before Thomas could start chastising Andy about the merits of wedding presents when he didn’t get paid tuppence, Albert came trotting up the hallway with a peculiarly worried look upon his youthful face. He side stepped into their conversation, beckoning for Thomas to lean in as if he were afraid for the others to hear what he had to say.</p><p>“Mr. Barrow,” Albert fretfully looked over his shoulder. “Ms. Denker is at the door. She says she wants to speak to you.”</p><p>The name ‘Denker’ put a dampener on the entire conversation. Where before, Bates and Andy had been teasing Thomas relentlessly, now the pair of them looked rather unsure. There was a part of Thomas, deep deep down, which somehow sympathized with Denker. But it was a base, primal level, and came from years of knowing what it felt like to be a social pariah. In a way, punishing Denker and being sharp with her felt like he was brown nosing the rest of the Downton residents. In another way it was also strangely cathartic. All in all, he was never pleased when she came to call, and took no pleasure in handling her affairs. She was like O’Brien in a way.</p><p>A stupider, drunker, more flamboyant O’Brien.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll handle this,” Thomas told the others. He saw Andy visibly relax, perhaps sensing that of all the staff Thomas was most capable of handling Denker’s nonsense. He turned to Albert and said, “Tell Ms. Denker that we are in the middle of an event and she is not welcome. If she wants to call on me, it’ll have to be later.”</p><p>“Yes sir,” And Albert made off like a shot only to come screeching to a halt two milliseconds later at the sight of Denker herself storming up the hallway from the area yard. Albert cringed, as if thinking that he would be punished for Denker wheedling her way inside.</p><p>“I-“ Albert began but Thomas waved him off. He cut through Denker’s path, stopping her before she could truly enter the servant’s hall. All eyes had fallen upon her, and Thomas heard the piano music stop as Rose came to a pause.</p><p>“What is she doing here?” He heard another whisper irritably.</p><p>Denker looked, in a word, strung out. She’d clearly had to hassle to get all her things together and carried two valises (one to each arm). Her worn out hat was askew upon her head. Her hair had not been properly coiffed. Whatever had recently happened to her, it had allowed her no time to come to a reprieve. Thomas had a feeling that Spratt had thrown her out on her arse (the final act in a long bitter feud).</p><p>“Denker,” Thomas did not even offer her a ‘ms’ to go along with that. “Whatever you’ve come for, you can jolly well leave it. We’re in the middle of a party, or are you too drunk to tell?”</p><p>“Mr. Barrow, I need to speak with you-“ she was in a garbled rush, hardly listening to his criticism. Thomas arched an eyebrow, curious at her despair. “It’s urgent, I have no where else to go!”</p><p>In the reflection of a cracked and faded mirror hanging over the servant’s hall desk, Thomas noted that many of the expressions of his colleagues were ones of disgust. In particular, Baxter was rolling her eyes, along with Moseley who seemed repulsed by their guest. Bates and Anna were silent, but this was their martyr like way of handling difficulties. They clammed up and waited for the storm to pass instead of doing anything about it.</p><p>Sensing the tide was with him, Thomas spoke with force.</p><p>“And why should I care about that?” He demanded. “Your employer has passed, go find another one. There’s plenty of Dowagers looking for a maid to boss around-“</p><p>“But that’s the thing of it,” Denker argued, “Spratt wouldn’t give me a reference! I need one from you!”</p><p>A bubble of angry laughter slipped past Thomas’ lips. So it seemed that not only had Spratt shoved Denker off, he’d essentially shoved her into a hole? Well, well…. What a shame! If she’d been less of an arse for the past few years, he might have been tempted to make a deal with her. As it stood, however, he wasn’t about to align himself with her melodious presence just for the sake of a one up in the future. No, no, best just to play it safe in this instance and stick to the moral high ground.</p><p>She was much too weak an opponent to be trifled over. Now that the Dowager was dead, Denker was finished.</p><p>“I see!” Thomas sneered. “So Spratt wouldn’t give a ranging, thieving, manipulating alcoholic a reference after years of abuse? I wonder why…” Thomas tapped his lip, enjoying how Denker turned a shade of puce with rage. “Totally evades me. Either way, you’re not wanted here.”</p><p>“But-“ She was struggling between letting him have it and using him for her own purposes. “But we can help each other, you and I. We’re not that different-“</p><p>But this just served to enrage Thomas, who felt as if he was being slapped in the face by all the sins of his past. He looked about to find most of the staff either hiding their faces or wincing. In particular, Bates was quite displeased, as if he thought that Thomas might for the tiniest moment, consider Denker’s offer. What was more, poor Andy (who had always been harassed by Denker) looked ready to be sick.</p><p>Thomas narrowed his eyes, considering his options.</p><p>He could, of course, merely tell Denker to leave. But she probably wouldn’t and might start kicking up more of a fuss. He could kick up an even bigger fuss, but that might frighten the women. He supposed it was a case of being bad to deal with a worser evil, and if one had to tread on a few toes to get their way, then that was just a part of life wasn’t it? What was more, Carson was still upstairs. If ever there were a moment to really let Denker have it, it was now before Carson returned and could lord over him once again.</p><p>“Andy.” Thomas addressed his footman. Andy was white in the face, perhaps fearing his whole world was to be turned on its head. “I didn’t get you a wedding present, and for that I am sorry. So, allow me to make up for that now.”</p><p>“M…Mr. Barrow?” Andy wondered.</p><p>He turned to Denker, drew himself up to his fullest height, and then without a shred of shame said, “Denker, go fuck yourself.”</p><p>He heard several people suck in breaths of shock and amazement at his foul language.</p><p>“Thomas!” Mrs. Hughes spluttered, but before she could continue on, Thomas pressed even further, forcing Denker back as he took one menacing step after another.</p><p>“Now get out of here you monstrous whining cow, or I’ll have Andy throw you out like the rubbish that you are!”</p><p>“I wouldn’t turn it down!” Andy jeered from the back.</p><p>Denker was trying to figure out what to say, but Thomas’ foul language and the others reactions seemed to have robbed her blind. She made one pathetic noise after the other, even raising her finger in remark.</p><p>“You wouldn’t dare, you little cake eating-“ Her face began to screw up in rage.</p><p>“I’ll show you cake eating!” Thomas snarled. Furious at being called foul names in front of his staff, he grabbed Denker forcibly by the upper arm and drug her bodily down the hall. At first, she put up a fight, and even tried to dig her heels in. But Thomas was stronger, and it was clear from the stench of barley water on her breath that she’d been drinking and trying to cover it up. He forced her back to the area door, which he opened to fling her bodily into the alleyway. She tripped, one of her shoes falling off so that she went flat on her face. One of her valises broke its handle.</p><p>“So long, you old baw bag!” Thomas jeered, before slamming the door and locking it just for good measure. Outside, he could hear Denker shrieking her retort, absolutely furious to be treated so unjustly before the others. Pushing his hair out of his face and re-fixing his bowtie, Thomas returned to the party where the others were guffawing and elbowing one another in shock. Gertie had her mouth open, scandalized to have heard the word ‘fuck’ issued in her presence.</p><p>“Did you hear him say that?” She wondered to Rose.</p><p>“Hush, Gertie,” Mrs. Hughes warned.  She didn’t look pleased (at least not entirely) but there was still a tiny smile creeping at the corner of her lips. She’d probably annoy him for it later, but Denker was gone for the moment and that was all that mattered.</p><p>“A round of applause!” Andy declared, and he began to clap as if Thomas were a performing monkey. Worst of all, a few of the others joined in so that suddenly he was blushing before an audience.</p><p>“Thank you… thank you…” He sneered, wishing he could sink into the wall and disappear.</p><p>For a moment, there was nothing but talk on how Thomas had said the word ‘fuck’ with Mrs. Hughes swearing she was going to tell Mr. Carson only to be begged off by Andy and Daisy. In lieu of all of it, Thomas slunk to the back wall of the servant’s hall, nursing his nearly drained punch. Oh what a joyous sound he’d heard, at the scuffing of Denker’s moldy face against the brick. The blood was pulsing through his fingers, a clear reminder of how tightly he’d grabbed her arm.</p><p>God that had been a delight!</p><p>“As a matter of fact!” Anna called out, raising her voice so as to be heard above the pulse of the crowd. She even raised her class, tapping at it delicately with her cake fork. The others turned to look at her, the voices of the crowd turning to a dull murmur.</p><p>“While we’ve got everyone’s attention and we’re all here in a good mood, we have some more good news to add to the pot,” Anna explained.</p><p>But before she could proclaim what this good news was, Bates cut in, flushed with excitement. “Anna and I are expecting again,” he declared.</p><p>And at once, everyone was off and babbling with delight.</p><p>“Oh,  how wonderful!” Mrs. Hughes clapped her hands together, beaming with misty eyes.</p><p>“Congratulations!” Mrs. Patmore praised, filling up both Bates and Anna’s glasses so that they could have a full on to toast from.</p><p>Christ, it seemed like everyone was having sex, wasn’t it? Trying not to feel like a hermit, Thomas forced a smile onto his face and did his best to seemed pleased. To be fair, he wasn’t exactly thrilled. It didn’t really bother him that much either way.</p><p>“I’m glad to hear it,” he lied. To keep from looking awkward, he began to visibly count on his fingers.</p><p> </p><p>“June 18<sup>th</sup>, or so the doctor says,” Anna supplied for him. “I’ve kept it quiet until I was certain.”</p><p>“I’ll mark the calendar,” Thomas said, turning to the desk to flip their enormous spread until he was on the month of June for next year. It was clear for the moment, though as time drew closer it would inevitably be filled up with dates of social calls. It turned out that the 18<sup>th</sup> would be on a Saturday. Thomas marked it down with his personal ink pen.</p><p>“Good news is we’re quiet for that month, for the time being,” Thomas said to Anna. “So we should be able to have a big party here if you like… say… a few days before or after? Whatever you’re in the mood for.”</p><p>“That’d be lovely Thomas. Thank you,” Anna said with a smile.</p><p>“Happy to help,” But he was growing tired of socializing and pretending to be happy. He wanted to find somewhere to hole up and lick his wounds. He turned back to the others and was glad to see that they’d been thrown off the chase. “As a matter of fact, I have a bit of paperwork to do. I have to change every file in Daisy’s name from Mason to Parker. Yeesh!” He threw up his hands in mock despair.</p><p>“Sorry Mr. Barrow,” Daisy teased.</p><p>“Oh I don’t think you’re sorry,” He wagged his fingers, re-capping his personal ink pen and slipping it back into his pocket. “Excuse me. Keep enjoying yourselves!” And with that he wandered down the hall to his office, slipping inside to shut the door on the gloom and quiet.</p><p><em>Oh thank god,</em> he relaxed his face, exhausted from having to smile and appear jolly. He slumped into his office chair, not even bothering to open his file cabinet under the presumption of doing paperwork. He put his head in his hand, and with the other carefully fished beneath his bib to find Richard’s pendant.</p><p> </p><p>He still didn’t know where he was. It had been days now… what if Richard had left England, or had just decided Thomas wasn’t worth the trouble?</p><p>Miserable, Thomas observed the dull crescent moon, and carefully polished it with the pad of his thumb. It wasn’t real silver, their lot couldn’t afford that… it was probably made out of iron.</p><p>If Richard had stuck around, Thomas might have asked him.</p><p>Still, it had been a nice dream… to pretend that Richard might have liked him. At least he had something to cling to in moments of loneliness while his co-workers were off shagging one another like randy rabbits.</p><p>The door opened to reveal Bates. Thomas quickly stuffed his pendant back beneath his bib, hurriedly doing up his breast button. Bates raised an eyebrow, curious.</p><p>“Knocking is a standard form of etiquette,” Thomas grumbled.</p><p>“What are you doing undressing in here?” Bates wondered. “I thought you had paperwork.” He shut the door, so that now it was just the pair of them.</p><p>“I had something wrong with my undershirt,” Thomas lied. “And you should have knocked!” He added again. Bates raised his hands in mock form of surrender. He then shucked them into his pockets, watching as Thomas scooted his rolling chair over to his file cabinet and pulled out Daisy’s enormous file. After spending her entire life in Downton’s service, she had hundreds of documents to her name. Thomas pulled out a new manilla envelope and paused to practice writing Daisy’s name on a scrap sheet of paper for a moment before he felt that he was ready to officially write her a new file folder.</p><p>When he looked back up, he found Bates still watching him. He seemed completely content just to sit there and stare all day long.</p><p>To make matters queerer, Bates took his guest chair and sat down. Now the pair of them were staring at one another eye to eye.</p><p>“… Are you alright?” Bates finally asked. “Really?”</p><p>“Yes.” Thomas lied, opening Daisy’s new envelope to begin creating a new employee file for her. “Yes, I’m fine.”</p><p>“I’d understand if you weren’t.”</p><p>His pen slowly came to a stop. Thomas looked up, and found Bates still watching him with that benign expression of acceptance. Unsure of what to say, Thomas set his pen down and relaxed in his chair.</p><p>They had such a peculiar relationship now. They weren’t really friends, but they certainly weren’t enemies anymore, and in lieu of the discovery that O’Brien was coming back to the house Thomas felt like his old kinship with Bates was starting to grow stronger. Here was a man that knew exactly what he’d suffered under O’Brien’s hands. A man who had put himself on the line to get her to back the hell off in 1920.</p><p>Thomas hadn’t forgotten that.</p><p>“I’m sorry about what Andy said,” Bates said. “Saying you ought to give women a try.”</p><p>Thomas scoffed, rolling his eyes. What piffle he talked. “I’ve heard it all before,” he said. And he had, from his father, to his mother, to his village priest… it was hardly new.</p><p>“It was a bit much,” Bates added. “The bit about Daisy’s thighs-“</p><p>“Let’s not go into that again,” Thomas said. Bates was chuckling, unable to resist.</p><p>“But your face,” He added, unable to keep from smiling. “You looked ready to frighten the dog.”</p><p>Thomas let out a long, slow breath through pursed lips, smiling in spite of himself. In retrospect it was a tiny bit funny.</p><p>“I know it must be hard,” Bates said. “… Not being able to have children of your own.”</p><p>“You don’t know,” Thomas corrected him. “You cannot fathom it. Don’t try.”</p><p>But instead of being put off, Bates kept staring at him with that gentle if fatherly gaze. “Have you considered adoption?”</p><p>“Don’t think it’d work,” Thomas admitted. He gestured about the room, from the tack holes on the wall to the cobwebs at the windowsill beyond which a bare tree was visible. “What do I have to offer. No mother figure, no savings… I have nothing. Don’t think that many orphanages would care for me.”</p><p>“They might not even ask,” Bates said. “Those types can be downright brutal when they place kids. Take for example-“ But Bates’ example was cut off by a terse knock at the door followed by the reveal of Mrs. Hughes. She did not look happy.</p><p>“Mrs. Hughes,” Thomas greeted her.</p><p>“I’ve just been upstairs, summoned by her ladyship,” Mrs. Hughes said. “She’s coming tonight.”</p><p>For a moment, Thomas could not fathom who the ‘she’ was, until a terrible weight sank into his stomach like a slate of concrete. He groaned, putting his head in his hands. “Don’t say it…” He muttered to no one in particular.</p><p>“I’m so sorry to bring down the mood,” Mrs. Hughes said. Bates rose from his chair, leaning casually upon his cane.</p><p>“Whose coming tonight?” He asked, bemused.</p><p>Mrs. Hughes glanced from Thomas to Bates, bitter at having to be the one to reveal the awful truth.</p><p>She sighed, defeated. “You might as well hear it now,” She said. “Her ladyship discovered, of all people… Sarah O’Brien.”</p><p>It was a mark of Bates’ steely nerves that he did not flinch of balk.</p><p>“In London, living in rags. So now of course she wants her back in the house.”</p><p>Bates narrowed his eyes, weighing his options. When he found them less than appealing, he turned to Thomas as the butler. “Can you do something about it?”</p><p>“No,” Thomas admitted. Bates let out a noise of low disgust.</p><p>“We’ve already tried speaking to her ladyship,” Mrs. Hughes pleaded. “But she won’t listen.”</p><p>“What about his Lordship?” Bates offered.</p><p>“You might be the one to try that, not me,” Thomas said. “You may get somewhere.” Indeed, he was surprised he hadn’t thought of it before. He supposed, in lieu of the terrible reveal, he’d been too shocked to think of turning to Bates (particularly when he didn’t work in the house anymore). Mrs. Hughes fretted, wringing her hands.</p><p>“But if she’s coming up tonight, you have to say something to the staff Thomas,” Mrs. Hughes said. “Otherwise everyone will be horrified-“</p><p>“They’ll be horrified anyway,” He grumbled, which was quite true.</p><p>For a moment, the three of them simply stood there, each more displeased than the last. Finally, Bates spoke up, “And the day started out so good”.</p><p>There was no point putting it off. Well aware that his day was about to nose-dive into the realm of god awful, Thomas drew himself out of his chair with a withered expression and began a sulky march towards the door.</p><p>“Let’s go,” He grumbled. “We might as well get this over with.”</p><p>Back to the servant’s hall they went, with Mrs. Hughes bringing up the rear and closing the door to his office as she went. Mr. Carson was back and was being served a glass of punch by Mrs. Patmore. He’d clearly learned that Anna was pregnant because he was speaking with her warmly and seemed to be toasting her. As Thomas re-appeared, Mrs. Hughes cleared her throat to get everyone’s attention.</p><p>“May I have your attention please- Gertie stop the music,” Mrs. Hughes ordered. Gertie shut off the record player at once so that the room fell into sharp silence. Everyone looked around, with Mr. Carson slightly surprised at his wife’s bitter tone.</p><p>“Mr. Barrow and I have something to say to you, please listen,” Mrs. Hughes said. It was a mark of her massive influence on the staff that in that moment one could hear a pin drop upon the flagstone floor. Not a soul spoke, not even Albert the houseboy.</p><p>Mrs. Hughes looked to Thomas, with a sort of ‘<em>have fun’</em> expression.</p><p>Thomas cleared his throat, wondering how best to proceed with the facts. He supposed the only way forward was the straight and narrow. Things were already too convoluted to try and sugar coat the facts.</p><p>“I have been alerted by her ladyship to a change in staff,” Thomas said. He noticed a tension ripple through the room, with a few of the housemaids suddenly looking petrified. Eager to appease their fears, Thomas said, “No one is losing their job, rest assured.”</p><p>He heard Rose let out a little sigh of relief.</p><p>“Lady Grantham has spoken with Ms. Baxter, and now that she is to be married to Mr. Moseley, she feels that a change in career is advisable. Therefore, Ms. Baxter is now to serve as Mrs. Hughes’ assistant. This leaves a shortage in staff that Lady Grantham wishes to have filled by a former… member of staff.” Thomas could not help it. His tone naturally turned sour.</p><p>The others waited. As Thomas tried to come up with the words to explain the gravity of the situation, Anna cut in. “Who?” she asked.</p><p>Looking to her more than any other (for like her husband, she knew exactly how awful things would be under O’Brien’s return), Thomas murmured, “… I’m truly sorry to say that it’s O’Brien, Anna.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The reactions were divided but expected. Those who had not been here during the time of O’Brien (Baxter, Andy, Albert, Gertie, Rose, Margret, Helen, and Jane) were quiet but confused. They glanced at one another, trying to ascertain why everyone else was suddenly panicking and floundering for air.</p><p>Those who had been on staff during the time of O’Brien were in an outrage, and each began to speak at the same time, clamoring over one another in their desperation to voice their displeasure.</p><p>“You can’t be serious!” Anna said.</p><p>“You must be joking!” Daisy added. “Nobody in their right mind would bring that witch back here.”</p><p>“After what she did, sneaking away in the dead of night?” Mrs. Patmore demanded. “And all the trouble she’s caused over the years? This can’t be right!”</p><p>“She can’t possibly want her back here,” Moseley said. “After all that she did?”</p><p>“This is an outrage!” Mr. Carson was perhaps the most affronted, for it was he who had as of recently been in charge of staff affairs. For some reason, he seemed to hold Thomas accountable though Thomas could not say why. “I shall be speaking to her ladyship immediately!”</p><p>“Do as you like, I doubt it’ll change much,” Thomas warned, for if Mrs. Hughes hadn’t been able to change her mind why would Carson? “Apparently she’ll be arriving here tonight-“</p><p>“And you let it carry on this long?!” Carson demanded. “You let Judas back into this house?! Though I suppose you’re quite pleased-“</p><p>“Don’t you dare,” Thomas’ voice issued in a growl, his tone murderous as Carson dabbled near dangerous waters. If there was anyone in the house who was in danger with O’Brien’s return, it would be him. He, who had once been her only friend. He, who know all her secrets.</p><p>“Who is this woman?” Andy demanded, looking to Daisy.</p><p>“Trust me, you don’t want to know,” Daisy scoffed.</p><p>“I cannot believe that you allowed this to happen!” Carson continued berating Thomas, now pacing the floor. “How could you be so stupid-“</p><p>“Mr. Carson!” Thomas barked. The man was rebuked, but only slightly. They ware almost equal in weight over the other, so that a scuffled between the pair of them was like two elephants throwing their trunks around the room (no one was safe, and everyone wanted to watch).</p><p>Spurned into another argument, Thomas channeled all his anger at the man and simply let him have it. “How many times must you try to usurp my authority in front of my staff before you are entirely satisfied? You know as well as I do that the family does what they want without my influence! If you think that I take any pleasure from this-“</p><p>“And why shouldn’t you when you two were as thick as thieves?” Carson sneered.</p><p>“Do you so easily forget what she did in 1920?!” Thomas was close to shouting now, furious that Carson would so easily forget his misery.</p><p>In the back of Thomas’ mind, a horrific moment played on loop, with Carson’s voice echoing off every corner of his mind <em>(“Don’t get clever with me when you should be horsewhipped!!”). </em></p><p>“You put up with her sure enough after that!” Carson waved him off, as if it were all a game. As if he were somehow at ease with the fact that O’Brien was returning to do battle with him once more. Why couldn’t the man see that Thomas was just as poorly affected as the rest of them?</p><p>“There is a fine line between putting up with someone and being friends!” Thomas rounded the table, pursuing Carson out of the servant’s hall and chasing the man right to the foot of the stairs where he shot out a hand to force the man to keep from ascending. They glared at one another. “I should think you very familiar with the concept when it comes to me!”</p><p>Carson’s nostrils flared, the tips of his large ears beginning to turn pink from a rush of blood. Thomas plowed on. “I do not want her back in this house, but there is nothing that I can do! What Lady Grantham wants, she gets. If you think that you can influence her decision, march right up these stairs and do it yourself! I don’t get the liberty of being chummy with this family, I fill their orders and get a measly paycheck. The day you realize you do the same is the day you wake up to reality!”</p><p>He took a deep breath, and then another, his voice shuddering from the strain of his rage. Where before Carson had been furious, now he just looked disappointed and bitter. He straightened his tie a bit, as if hoping to appear aloof against Thomas’ words.</p><p>“You are cold, sir.” Carson said.</p><p>“You taught me,” Thomas replied.</p><p>Bitter at that particular sting, Carson turned way and forced Thomas’ arm down so that he could mount the stairs at a quick trot. A moment later and he was gone, leaving nothing more than a pocket of hot air that he’d once occupied.</p><p>Furious, Thomas returned to the servant’s hall, now in a vicious mood to be tangled with.</p><p>“The party is over!” Thomas ordered. He gestured from the half-eaten cake to the nearly drained punch bowl. “Put up everything, get the room back to the way it was. I expect to see it cleared by the time I return. Don’t come knocking on my door unless you want a thrashing!” And they would certainly have more than enough time to clear the room because Thomas was going to barricade himself in his office and not come out until he was absolutely forced to. Storming down the hallway, Thomas slammed his office door behind him. Finally alone, he had to take several deep breathes before he could start to feel calm again.</p><p>Even so, he was still frayed around the edges.</p><p>He staggered back to his seat, slumping into it so that he might lay his head upon his desk. Daisy’s half—finished file was still open to the air.</p><p>For several moments, perhaps close to a quarter of an hour, Thomas simply lay in the silence, listening to the dull aching grind outside his door of tables being moved and chairs being re-positioned. Part of him felt incredibly guilty for spoiling Andy and Daisy’s party. But after dropping the news of O’Brien, he doubted that anyone would want to feasibly celebrate.</p><p>What was really burning him, deeply and truly, was Carson’s inability to realize that Thomas was in the worst situation upon O’Brien’s return. It seemed that nothing short of a full cataclysm could force Carson to realize that Thomas had feelings. That Thomas was susceptible to harm. Why?</p><p>When had it become so easy for the man to dissuade Thomas of his humanity?</p><p>Was it honestly, truly, because he was gay? Was that really all that it took? Part of him felt not, and that perhaps the breadth of it lay in their tangled history. The lying, the stealing, the vicious backstabbing… after decades of being untrustworthy it seemed that Thomas would never be able to claw his way out of a hole in Carson’s books.</p><p>He wished, more than anything, that he could go back in time and stop himself. Simply scruff his younger self by the neck and shake him till some sense finally jangled loose in his head.</p><p>But it had all seemed so easy, so natural at the time. Perhaps a bit like Christopher shooting those policemen.</p><p>Which brought Thomas back to the awful question he’d been avoiding for days. Would he have shot a policeman too, if put in the same situation?</p><p> </p><p>The door opened. Thomas sat up at his desk, lips pursed and eyes blazing. Ready to wring out whoever decided to betray his orders and bother him, Thomas went from ready to shout to deflated in half a second as he realized that it was not just one person but a whole company of concerned faces.</p><p>Mrs. Hughes entered first. Behind her came Bates, then Anna, then Moseley, and finally Baxter. As the last one in the room, Baxter shut the door so that everyone stood clustered around Thomas’ desk like a gaggle of stray pigeons on a street corner. Not a damned one of them seemed to know what to do.</p><p>In the silence, Thomas felt distinctly uncomfortable. They were looking for answers, each of them seeming to want to hear him say <em>something. </em>What that something was, he just didn’t know.</p><p>“… There’s nothing to be done,” Thomas finally said. He was exhausted, deflated, and it showed in his voice. “I’ve tried to speak with Lady Grantham, so has Mrs. Hughes-“ He gestured to her. “It’s just… she thinks she’s doing something charitable and kind. That we’re all unkind and ungenerous for not wanting her back. She has no way of knowing what O’Brien is capable of.”</p><p>“Stop,” Thomas was surprised by Anna’s request. She was fretful, her hands gravitating to her still flat stomach. “Please. You don’t have to explain yourself to us. Mr. Carson is the one who’s angry.”</p><p>Thomas rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat so that the joints squeaked in protest.</p><p>“He’s always angry at me,” Thomas muttered. “This just gives him a new reason.”</p><p>“Is that so true?” Mrs. Hughes challenged, “When he put the staff in your care?”</p><p>“My care…” He could laugh for the stupidity of it all, “Mrs. Hughes, when the royal visit arrived, he took over. When the Dowager died, he took over. And quite frankly you lot were all delighted by it. My care indeed.”</p><p>“He only wanted to make sure things were done properly.”</p><p>Thomas just laughed and laughed, though it was a tittering quiet chuckle at the back of his throat. He closed his eyes, rocking ever so slightly in his swivel chair as to sooth himself.</p><p>“I know you don’t believe me.” Mrs. Hughes sounded disappointed with him, but he didn’t care.</p><p>He scoffed. “I don’t have the luxury of believing people,” Thomas grumbled. “That’s a bit above my station.”</p><p>“Well-“ Mrs. Hughes’ retort was cut off by the door opening. In it, stood the hulking shadow of Carson, who was a defeated and humiliated giant with a sour expression. It seemed that the gallant Arthur had failed in his appeal to Guinevere.</p><p>“So…” Thomas wore an acidic smile. “How did it go?”</p><p>Carson shut the door, trudging forward to the front of the group so that he and Mrs. Hughes were side by side. “I should think you know full well,” he warned.</p><p>“I do,” Thomas was under no illusions as to the outcome of Carson’s attempt. “But I want to hear you say it,” He explained. “I want to hear you admit that I was right, and that I had nothing to do with this. That Lady Grantham alone was responsible for O’Brien’s return, and that your assumptions were false.”</p><p>“Do you find my humiliation enjoyable?” He demanded.</p><p>“Immensely,” Thomas drawled, fingertips placed together.</p><p>Carson opened his mouth, clearly ready to let Thomas have it once again. He was stopped by Mrs. Hughes, who put a hand on his elbow and tugged at his sleeve. The glare in her eyes left nothing to question. They’d clearly conversed about this before, and she was displeased with the arguing.</p><p>Shuddering, Carson tried again for a more docile approach, “Mr. Barrow, may I just say that I am giving you as much rope as I can possibly allow, and you are hanging yourself with it.”</p><p>“Oh Mr. Carson,” He tutted, “Don’t deny yourself the credit you deserve. You’re the one who kicked the bloody chair.”</p><p>Furious at Thomas’ cheek, but unable to deny his point, Carson pursed his lips and turned on his heel only to stride out the door and slam it shut. The sound of wood smacking on wood was so sharp that it made Thomas jump a bit in his chair.</p><p>Mrs. Hughes was far from pleased. “Honestly, Thomas,” She complained. “Why do you have to be so cruel to him? This is difficult for all of us, not just you.”</p><p>But Thomas was not in the mental state to argue with Mrs. Hughes over her husband’s cruelty or supposed mistreatment. He raised both hands in a firm stopping motion, forcing everyone in his office to come to heel as he drew a great breath.</p><p>“Do not speak to me of being of being cruel to him,” Thomas warned. “You do not know what ‘cruel’ is.”</p><p>Mrs. Hughes bit her tongue, clearly wanting to disagree but unable to speak.</p><p>“I want my office cleared, so that I may have time to prepare for this evening when I am to welcome back into this house the woman who tried to have me arrested for my darkest shame. Can I be garnered that smidgeon of respect or am I to listen to you complain until nightfall.”</p><p>Mrs. Hughes let out an ugly noise under her breath. Giving him up for lost, she turned and followed the same way as her husband. “I will be in my office,” was all she said before she closed the door.</p><p> Now, Thomas was left with the gaggle of four who were all staring at him and waiting for answers.</p><p>“Please, go,” Thomas ordered. No one made to move.</p><p>“… Does it bother you?” Anna asked. Thomas glared at her, wondering if he could unnerve her enough to make her faulter and flee. Unfortunately for him, Anna was now the mother of an almost-toddler and wasn’t one to kick up dust when someone pitched a fit.</p><p>“Does it bother you,” she repeated again when Thomas did not answer. “O’Brien coming back and all that it means.”</p><p>He supposed there was a long slew of answers he could give her, most of which revolved around wailing and gnashing of teeth. Instead, Thomas summed it up the best he could with the only reference that he could lean on to explain his agony: “It makes me want to take a bath in the middle of the day.”</p><p>A slight bristle passed through the others. Baxter and Moseley looked at one another, some unbidden message passing between them that only lovers could understand.</p><p>Bates spoke up, “I’m going to eat my supper in your office tonight.”</p><p>“So am I,” Anna agreed.</p><p>“Well if you are then I am too,” Moseley pitched in.</p><p>“I’ll tell Mrs. Patmore we’re taking our supper in here,” Was Baxter’s finishing sentiment.</p><p>Christ, they could all be such <em>goddamn </em>nags! He wanted to throttle them all for the injustice of it. He didn’t want to have dinner with everyone, he wanted to be left bloody well enough alone. But it seemed that after referencing his suicide, no one was eager to let him be for five minutes lest he take up his pen knife and stab himself in the neck.</p><p>“This is ridiculous,” Thomas complained. “I’m a grown man, I can be alone for an hour-“</p><p>“It’s called being nice,” Anna retorted, and it was clear from her tone that she thought he was being a pest. “Learn to respect it when you see it.” With that, she left, nose stuck up in the air like she had done him the loveliest of favors by intruding upon his evening.</p><p>One by one they filed out after each other, smug in their assuredness that they had ‘saved’ him from himself. Alone at last, Thomas groaned and sagged in his chair.</p><p>For all their eagerness to keep him alive, they sure were good at making him want to die.</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>The rest of the day passed quickly, as if time realized that Thomas’ doom would occur at nightfall. Somehow his anxiety sped the clock, and soon the family was being served their dinners on trays while staff ate in the hall. True to their word, Anna, Bates, Moseley, and Baxter all crowded into Thomas’ office to eat there. Mrs. Hughes disapproved, and considered it out of order for a staff that was already on edge. But technically neither Anna, Bates, or Moseley worked for the abbey anymore. They were more or less only guests, with Baxter serving as Thomas’ confidant. This excuse did not go over smoothly with Mrs. Hughes, but was swallowed none the less. They ate their steak and kidney pie on trays upon their laps and drank juice from borrowed cups, feeling a bit more like children than adults.</p><p>“This is how the upper staff used to eat, in the old days,” Moseley said, gesturing to the trays in their laps. “Back when the house had up to fifty servants in it, the upper crust would eat with the butler in his office, and the lower staff would eat out in the hall. It was considered a sign of respect.”</p><p>“Mm…” Thomas sucked a bit of pudding off his spoon. He glanced at the clock on the wall, noted its late time, and glanced at the others. “Well… I don’t suppose it’s too late for me to resign and skip out the back before she gets here.”</p><p>“But who would be the new butler?” Anna asked. Always the pragmatic one.</p><p>Thomas looked to Moseley and put on the cheesiest smile he could manage. “Come on… wouldn’t it be fun to lord over a large staff?”</p><p>“Sorry, Mr. Barrow,” The man wouldn’t budge. “I’m a teacher now and that’s the way it’s to stay.”</p><p>Thomas looked to Bates. “You adore the Crawley’s, why not you?”</p><p>“Because I’ve taken out a mortgage to pay for my inn and until it’s paid off they’ve got me chain and ball,” Bates replied. Ah, that was a fickle of a situation.</p><p>“Andy?” Thomas mused.</p><p>“Doubt he’d enjoy that,” Baxter said. “And he’s got the farm to contend with.”</p><p>“…. Albert?” He winced.</p><p>“Thomas, he’s twelve.”</p><p>He sagged his head, rubbing tenderly at his sinuses which were beginning to ache from the stress and the cold.</p><p>“And besides, what would you do?” Baxter asked him.</p><p>“Well…” That was a good question. “I’m shite at stealing, we all know that… I suppose I’m good looking enough to whore myself out-“</p><p>“Thomas!” Anna balked. “Watch your mouth!”</p><p>“You could make good money,” Bates added.</p><p>“John!” It was one of the few times that Thomas had heard Anna use Bates’ Christian name, a mark of how furious she was. “What on earth is wrong with you?”</p><p>“I’m just saying-“ But Moseley was laughing, and desperately trying to hide his face with his hands.</p><p>“What do you think I’m worth, realistically?” Thomas asked Bates. “How much would you pay for me.”</p><p>“Stop it!” Anna snapped. “I won’t hear you speak of such things, it’s vile-“</p><p>Baxter was blue in the face, her lips pursed tight to keep from laughing. Anna looked to her for support, only to scoff at her smiling. “Ms. Baxter, I expected better from you!”</p><p>“What am I getting for it?” Bates asked.</p><p>“Anything you like,” because if he was whoring himself out, he could hardly start shying away from product, could he?</p><p>Anna looked ready to have a stroke. “Oh, this is vile,” She hid her face in shame.</p><p>“So let’s say… a night with you, anything that I like, no holds barred.”</p><p>“Ah well, you can’t choke me or anything like that-“ “Thomas waved his hand as if tipping a scale. “Also no kissing on the lips. That costs extra.”</p><p>“Hmm…” Bates thought it over for a second. “A pound, I’d say.”</p><p>“A pound!” That was quite generous. “So realistically, if I sold myself for two months straight, every night, I could make my entire salary for a whole year and then spend the next ten months doing sod all.”</p><p>“Yeah that’s about right!” Bates was quite amazed by this achievement. “Cor we should ask for a raise.”</p><p>“Maybe if I give Lord Grantham a-“</p><p>“Thomas if you finish that sentence, I’ll whollup you!” Anna warned. Chided, Thomas decided he’d gone for enough and fell silent. In the stark quiet that followed, the four of them desperately tried not to laugh while Anna glared at all of them.</p><p>“You’re acting like children,” She said. “We have a serious problem on our hands, and this is how you chose to behave?”</p><p>Her warning sobered them up sure enough. Now slightly grim, Thomas relaxed in his swivel chair and carefully played with his leather wrist cuffs.</p><p>For a moment, he wondered how to say to them what he knew he must. But each of them were watching how he touched at the leather, and it seemed they knew what was on his mind.</p><p>“… Between the five of us…” Thomas spoke softly, lest someone outside the door overhear. “She finds out about this I’m done for. I dunno what she’d do with the information but she’d destroy me.”</p><p>“She won’t find out,” Anna promised.</p><p>“We won’t let her find out!” Baxter said, and she spoke with such vindication that Thomas almost believed her.</p><p>“It’s none of her damn business, anyways,” Bates grumbled. “And why would it ever come up? It’s not like it’s something that we talk about, is it?”</p><p>That was true, but the fear of it hung upon Thomas’ shoulders with a terrible weight. He continued to toy with the cuffs, unsure. “Who knows…” He whispered. “She may notice the cuffs, but I can’t afford to take them off. It’s not like I can hide what they are if someone asks. They’re too obvious, too… linear.”</p><p>That was as close a word as he could get to the true weight of what lay beneath. Fortunately for him, the others understood.</p><p>“Well, why don’t we come up with a story we can give,” Moseley offered. “Something she’ll swallow.”</p><p>“She’s too smart for that, an’ I’ve got a shite poker face,” Thomas said. “Not unless we’re really clever, and even then it’s not easy to keep up a lie all the time, trust me I know.”</p><p>“Well why don’t we hold her feet to the fire,” Bates offered. He sat his tray to the side so that he lap was cleared, and cross one ankle over the opposite knee. Thomas took out a cigarette and lit one up; when Bates silently asked, Thomas used his own lit cigarette to light another and pass it off to him.</p><p>“What was that secret of hers again?” He asked.</p><p>“Her Ladyships’ soaps,” Thomas said around the cigarette at the edge of his mouth, “An’ that’s all I’m saying.”</p><p>“Even now? After all this time?” Anna asked. “Why not just tell us?”</p><p>But it wasn’t that simple. That day had been etched forever into his mind, burned by the image of O’Brien bent over double weeping behind the bike shed. When Thomas had confronted her, she’d been unable to hide her shame, and had purged her soul to him. He’d tended to her in that moment like a dying animal, forswearing she wasn’t going to burn in hell for killing the baby. In truth, he’d been mortified, disgusted even… but she’d been his only friend. He’d had to swallow his morals that day, and it hadn’t been an easy thing to do. Now, to make up for it, he kept his morals guarded and refused to tell the others the truth.</p><p>“She put her trust in me, Anna,” He explained. The other’s listened avidly, curious about his darkest secrets. “She made me promise. She might have abandoned her principles, but I won’t abandon mine. The day that it happened, she was a broken woman. It were a terrible, terrible mistake and it ate her up from the inside. It destroyed her. I was horrified by what she’d done, but I cared for her in that moment. I was almost like a priest. Bringing up that day, and what happened? I can’t do that to her. Even if she’d do it to me—hell, she already has,” He scoffed. “You all know what she tried to do with Jimmy. She knows my darkest secret, you all do.” Baxter frowned, unsure. “But even so I can’t do it to her. So don’t ask me to.”</p><p>For a moment there was only silence. He had no way of knowing it, but the others were oddly moved by his strong morals in that moment, and his refusal to tell O’Brien’s secret raised their respect for him. Unaware of this shift in dynamic, Thomas reached beneath his desk and opened up a cupboard with a key to reveal a bottle of aged scotch. He pulled it out, so that the others could view it with eager eyes.</p><p>“Mr. Barrow…” Anna tutted in mock disapproval.</p><p>“Eh-“ he shrugged, unwrapping the paper foil at the neck. “Got it for Christmas from his lordship last year. Saved it for when I thought I’d need it.”</p><p>“Safe to say we need it,” Bates agreed. He downed the rest of his wine in one throw back and put his glass on the table for Thomas to fill. Moseley did the same, as did Baxter, but Anna held onto her juice.</p><p>Thomas poured glasses for the others, pausing to glance at Anna who held her cup to her chest.</p><p>“I shouldn’t,” she said. “For the baby.”</p><p>“Alcohol doesn’t hurt a baby, does it?” Thomas wondered.</p><p>“My mother says it makes babies have colic,” Anna explained. He shrugged, satisfied, and poured his own glass so that they could all drink.</p><p>It was a beautiful, buttery concoction, oddly sweet after the bitterness of the poor man’s wine. He was tempted to neck it straight from the damn bottle.</p><p>Spurned on by both wine and scotch, Moseley spoke up. “Why is so awful, anyway? You were her friend, you should know-“</p><p>“I was her nothing, Mr. Moseley,” Thomas corrected her. “If I was anything at all, I was an ally and not a very effective one. She were always the smarter one between the two of us. She thought of the snuffbox idea-“</p><p>“Which I stopped,” Anna reminded.</p><p>“She thought of the Jimmy thing,” Thomas reminded.</p><p>“Which I stopped,” Bates said.</p><p>“Alright, alright, but you get my point. I screwed up her schemes and did stupid things… I was such an idiot in my youth. Stealing wine…” Thomas shook his head ashamed. “What the hell was I thinking?”</p><p>“I don’t think you were thinking,” Baxter advised. She had a point there, Thomas had a feeling that for his early twenties not a single lucid thought had passed through his head.</p><p>“But you must know some of her secrets,” Moseley complained. “Surely you spoke about things to each other, in confidence?”</p><p>“One or two,” He mused. “But nothing besides the big one. Nothing about her past. I dunno where she came from, save that she clearly has a sister and that Alfred came from her. Besides that I’m clueless.”</p><p>“Do you think she was like me?” Baxter asked. Now that was possible, but it was difficult to know the specifics. When she’d been at Downton the last time, she’d been in her forties. Now, she’d be in her late fifties. Anything could be possible.</p><p>“Sure, anything’s possible,” Thomas said. “But we’ll never know, she keeps her cards close to her chest.” For if after years of having her ear Thomas couldn’t learn her secrets, he supposed no one could.</p><p>“Maybe she had a child out of wedlock,” Moseley mused. Now that put Thomas right off his scotch. He grimaced, shuddering involuntarily.</p><p>“Can we please not speak of such things?” He complained, sinking low in his swivel chair so that he might hide his chin against his chest. “Hearing about Daisy’s thighs this afternoon was bad enough.”</p><p>“What?” Anna demanded; it was like Thomas had revealed he a third arm.</p><p>“Daisy’s thighs?” Baxter said, incredulous.</p><p>“That’s what Andy said, “Bates backed him up. Moseley was shaking his head, like a dog trying to get water out of its ears. “Said she’d done something with her thighs on their wedding night.”</p><p>“But… what…” Anna didn’t know where to begin. This conversation had contained far too much salaciousness for her, from Thomas’ whoring abilities to Daisy’s sexually alluring thighs. “How?”</p><p>“I dunno,” Thomas grumbled. “You’re a woman, an’ your pregnant. You tell me what you do with your thighs-“</p><p>“My thighs are none of your business!” Anna warned him.</p><p>“I have no complaints,” Bates grinned. Furious at her sex life being a topic of conversation, Anna reached out and pinched Bates in the fat of his arm. He winced, pulling his arm away before she could do him more damage. The look she gave him was like thunder.</p><p>“Let’s not talk about that anymore, “Moseley advised. “It’s ruining a perfectly good scotch.”</p><p>“I have to agree,” Bates was already on his second glass, delighted by the taste. “It’s like… butter and honey aged in the arms of an angel.”</p><p>Lost to all of them, Thomas was rambling to himself, so low in his chair that he was close to slipping to the floor. “I cannot believe this is happening. O’Brien, back. Why me? Why now? Maybe this is my punishment for being different.”</p><p>“Don’t be silly,” Anna chided. “And sit up in your chair, Thomas, you’re like a child.”</p><p>“Maybe I’m being punished by God,” Thomas refused to acknowledge her other request. He could slouch if he wanted to!</p><p>“Thomas, don’t go there,” Her scotch half-finished, Baxter set her glass aside. Clearly she didn’t have the stomach for it like Moseley and Bates. “That sort of trifle is for people like Father Travis, not you. God doesn’t punish, God loves.”</p><p>“Amen,” Anna agreed, finishing her glass of juice. “And we’ll say no more about that.”</p><p>But the universe had decided that all their pilfering talk needed to come to an end. Hiding in an office with a bottle of scotch couldn’t save them from the end times. When they heard the back door bell ring, each of them grimaced. Thomas groaned aloud, close to whimpering as he filled up his glass again with more scotch.</p><p>“Here we go,” Bates complained. Thomas threw his scotch back like a shot, chugging it so that his throat suddenly burned. He finished his drink, heard someone walk past outside the door, and quickly threw back some more scotch just to console himself.</p><p>“One more time—” He choked out. Perhaps if he got blindingly drunk, this would all go over swimmingly.</p><p>“Honestly, will you two get a hold of yourselves?” Baxter demanded. He was surprised to find that Bates was drinking too; between the pair of them they were getting close to finishing off the bottle. To stop them from drinking themselves to death, Baxter grabbed the bottle of scotch off the desk and hid it in Thomas’ filing shelf where he normally kept the employee records. “Anna, help me.”</p><p>The two of them began to clear away the rest of the trays, stacking them in a neat little line with plates piled up one atop the other.</p><p>“We can do this,” Bates urged.</p><p>“No we can’t we’re doomed,” Moseley groaned.</p><p>“Shuttup,” Thomas snapped to the pair of them. He staggered out of his seat; he could hear someone coming back down the hall. He nearly fell over, his head spinning from blood rush and scotch.</p><p>He took an enormous sniff, wiping his nose with a handkerchief which he stowed quickly back in his pocket. He parted his hair to the side, making sure there were no fly aways. How he wished this day could be put off!</p><p>“I can do this…” Thomas whispered to himself, tasting the scotch on his tongue. “I can bloody well do this.”</p><p> </p><p>A knock came upon his door.</p><p> Thomas gestured from Bates to Moseley, urging them to step back from his desk. They did so, though neither looked enthused. Bates hid their scotch glasses behind a row of books that held household accounts from decades past.</p><p> </p><p>The door opened.</p><p> </p><p>But the breath that was sucked from Thomas was not one of anger or disgust. The shock that rippled through him was not from the sight of an enemy, or the incoming of battle.</p><p>It was, instead, the aching of love. The awe inspiring adoration of beholding the sight that walked into his office with that Cheshire cat grin.</p><p> </p><p>It could not be… it simply could not be-!</p><p>But it was.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Richard Ellis wore a dark brown traveling suit, his blue eyes searching hungrily for Thomas’ face. When he found him, the pair of them were locked in a silent battle of desire, each wishing they could say a thousand things to the other without the rest of the staff knowing. At his side stood Mrs. Hughes, who’d clearly let him in. She was utterly baffled at his appearance.</p><p><em>You came, </em>Thomas thought, his heart full to the bursting with happiness and relief. <em>You actually came for me. </em></p><p><em>I came, </em>Richard seemed to say with that knowing smile. He took off his hat, holding it over his heart. There, hidden beneath the stiffened fabric, he hid their love. Their true intentions.</p><p>Thomas let out a breath, his heart pounding in his ribs. He swallowed and found his tongue incredibly dry. His fingers seemed to be vibrating from the sheer force of the blood pumping through his veins. He wondered if he might feint.</p><p>Richard’s smile grew more powerful. Perhaps he too was feeling that incredible blood rush of being alive again.</p><p>“…Sorry to call so late,” Richard said. His voice was melodic and deep, like honey stretched over the brassy strings of a Spanish guitar. “My train was delayed out of York. I was going to telephone ahead, but I had to make a dash in the station.”</p><p>Thomas opened his mouth to say something, anything, but it was not forthcoming.</p><p>Instead, Anna was the one to speak first. She, like all the others, was flabbergasted.</p><p>“Mr. Ellis?” She wondered, as if she were hallucinating. “Whatever are you doing here?”</p><p>“I’ve applied for the valet vacancy,” Richard gestured with hat in hand. “Mr. Barrow has been good enough to offer me an interview.” And at this, his eyes flickered back to Thomas’ face. “Or have the circumstances changed?”</p><p>Thomas just beamed.</p><p><em>You came for me, </em>he thought again. <em>You really, truly, came for me. </em></p><p><em>I came for you, </em>Richard seemed to say with that knowing smile. <em>I told you I would. </em></p><p>“But… but you’re the valet for his majesty,” Mrs. Hughes scoffed.</p><p>“Not anymore, I left,” Richard explained.</p><p>“Left?” Anna was shocked. “Why?!”</p><p>“Didn’t want to be there. Wanted to be here.”</p><p>“But… <em>why here?” </em>Bates repeated. Like his wife, he didn’t seem to think it plausible that any sane man would give up a better paying job to take up a position in some dinky country house.</p><p>Richard reached up, and with his free hand tapped the tip of his nose. It seemed to be a symbol of secrecy and understanding that there were some things he could not publicly discuss. Bates looked to his wife for answers, but found none forthcoming.</p><p>“Mr. Barrow…” Richard said. “Would you care to interview me now? Or shall I book a hotel room and wait till the morning-“</p><p>In the corner, Baxter was grinning madly, glancing from Richard to Thomas. She alone seemed to grasp just what was happening and she was utterly delighted by it.</p><p>“Wait,” Mrs. Hughes cut him off before Thomas could answer. “Let me understand this plainly. You left your job, a particularly good job I might add, without the security of another?”</p><p>Caught out, Richard’s grin slackened if only a tiny bit. When said with such plain language, it was a foolish and ridiculous move to make. To the others, Richard must look like an idiot for running away from the King of England.</p><p>“why would you do such a thing?” Mrs. Hughes demanded.</p><p>“…Well…” Richard gestured to Thomas. Suddenly, he was the one now scrambling at straws and coming up short. “Mr. Barrow and I had an understanding.”</p><p>“Such as?” Mrs. Hughes looked to Thomas.</p><p>“I promised him an interview,” Thomas supplied at once.</p><p>“But not a job.”</p><p>“…No.” Thomas said. He couldn’t tell them the truth of course, that would be foolish in the extremes.</p><p>“So,” Mrs. Hughes turned back to Richard, who was blinking rapidly. “You left without the assurance of a job…. You left a job in Buckingham Palace serving his majesty, at that. Serving him personally, hand and foot.”</p><p>“…Yes.” Richard said, lamely.</p><p>“Mr. Ellis,” Mrs. Hughes tutted with clear disapproval, “That does not bode well for your intelligence.”</p><p>Richard let out a pained little cough, scratching at an eyebrow to distract himself from his obvious humiliation. “Fair’s fair,” he finally managed to squeak out. “Interview?”</p><p>Thomas let out a shuddering breath. Would it really be so simple? Would the keys of his happiness be laid within his grasp and none to stop him? It didn’t seem plausible after such a difficult life.</p><p>“Well…” he stuttered. “I… I mean to say, you were the valet for the king-“</p><p>“Fair’s fair, as I say,” Richard said.</p><p>Thomas’ smile was back. There was so much he wanted to say to Richard, and none of it rightly consisted of interview questions. He turned to the others, gesturing at the door. “I want the room cleared please so that I might interview Mr. Ellis.”</p><p>Baxter and Moseley left, with Baxter glancing over her shoulder wearing a knowing smile.</p><p> </p><p>“Might I stay, as the housekeeper?” Mrs. Hughes’ question was less of a request and more of a demand.</p><p>When Bates likewise did not move, he added. “Lord Grantham is a close friend of mine. I want to make sure that any new valet is up to the task.”</p><p>Richard didn’t seem to mind, but he also wasn’t rubbing shoulders with Bates. He focused solely on Thomas, as if the pair of them were completely alone in the room, and offered him his resume which he produced from his jacket in a crisp envelope. Thomas took it and opened it to behold a long list of credentials.</p><p>“My references,” Richard explained.</p><p>But that was silly. What were they doing? Playing games with letters and such… Thomas smiled at Richard, wondering what that Cheshire cat was thinking now.</p><p>“Go on…”Richard was almost teasing him. “Have fun.”</p><p>Palming his chin, Thomas took his time examining the pages of Richard’s work history. Most of it was a clear ascension in the ranks of Buckingham Palace but there was a noticeable five-year gap between his time as footman and his time as valet. Thomas had to wonder.</p><p>“You have a five year gap on your resume,” Thomas pointed on. It was more a curiosity than a question.</p><p>“Worked abroad in India,” He explained. “don’t usually list it because people can’t be bothered to write. It take too long to get a reply. Still, I can provide names if you wish-“</p><p>But Thomas just shook his head. The silliness of it all; if he hadn’t of downed half a bottle of scotch, Thomas would still swear he was drunk!</p><p>“Why have you chosen to leave the King’s service?” Mrs. Hughes asked.</p><p>“As I said…” Richard kept his story and his expression neutral, “I was needed here more.”</p><p>“Here? As in Yorkshire?” Mrs. Hughes asked. “I think I remember you mentioning to me that your family is in York, but I could be mistaken.”</p><p>“You’re not,” He smiled. “You have a good memory.” He was charming her, trying to get her to drop her guard so that she wouldn’t ask too many difficult questions.</p><p>“I have to at my age,” She teased. “Or it all starts going out the window. But surely you could find work in York? With a background like yours, Downton seems like a large step down?”</p><p>“Maybe,” Richard shrugged. He couldn’t very well deny the facts could he? “but I don’t want to work in York, and I don’t care about my career.”</p><p>“…Why ever not?” she asked.</p><p>Richard just smiled and tapped his nose again. “A gentleman has his secrets.”</p><p>Mrs. Hughes frowned, looking to Thomas for answers. When he gave her none, she seemed all the more unsettled. “Well… I don’t…” But she didn’t quite know what to say.</p><p>“Nothing nefarious, I assure you,” Richard was quick to sooth. “It’s merely personal, that’s all.” He tried to change the topic, switching from Mrs. Hughes to Bates. “So… as Lord Grantham’s prior valet, you must know his personal requirements better than most.”</p><p>Bates shifted his weight upon his cane, wary to trust a stranger (and particularly one from the wretched royal household) “Nothing you can’t catch onto quick enough,” Bates said.</p><p>But Richard kept trying to charm Bates, perhaps sensing that he wouldn’t get any favors from the man by brown-nosing like he could with Mrs. Hughes. “I was never particularlay chummy with his majesty. Bit of a different atmosphere there.”</p><p>“I suppose you can’t rub elbows with the King,” Bates agreed.</p><p>“No, it wasn’t my place,” Richard said. “Nor my priority. I didn’t have a close relationship with him. It just wasn’t done. It wasn’t seen as proper.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, Mr. Ellis-“ Mrs. Hughes cut across, still damned and determined to get to the bottom of this whole mystery. “I’m just astounded that I’m seeing you again! And to think that you want to work here? Of all places? I just can’t understand why, when you had everything in London. What on earth could make Downton so special?”</p><p>Richard caught Thomas’ eye, and held it for just a fraction of a second longer than strictly necessary. In that moment, a tiny conversation passed between them.</p><p><em>She won’t let off, </em>Richard seemed to say.</p><p><em>No, </em>Thomas agreed. <em>She’s a stickler. </em></p><p>Turning back to the housekeeper, Richard switched tactics. Avoiding her would do no good. “It’s not the place, Mrs. Hughes. It’s the people. I felt at home when I visited. I decided I wanted to return and make my home here.”</p><p>“But…” She was flabbergasted. “Working in London as the valet for the King of England, you were at the height of your career! You’ve thrown it all away!”</p><p>“On the contrary, Mrs. Hall-“</p><p>“Hughes,” She corrected him.</p><p>“Hughes,” He apologized and carried smoothly on, “Coming here has given me back my life. In London I worked for a paycheck, and I hated my job. Now I can work for pleasure and enjoy my life. What greater height can be found?”</p><p>“But… won’t you feel a little far out in the field? We’re in the country, and we’re not like London. We’re not even York, or Leeds.”</p><p>“Quite the opposite,” Richard explained. “I grew up in the outer realms of York. I’ve known farmland from a child’s eyes. I feel like I’ve come home. I have come home.”</p><p>“…How?” Once again, Mrs. Hughes could not help but ask. Richard just carefully tapped his nose with the tip of his finger.</p><p>Mrs. Hughes looked from Richard to Thomas, unable to put two and two together.</p><p>Richard turned back to Thomas with a knowing smile. “So Mr. Barrow… Anything you’d like to ask me?”</p><p>Thomas just tenderly shook his head, amused at Richard’s antics. He was such a thespian, sometimes. It was so wonderful to hear his voice, to know that he was here. Thomas had all but forgotten about O’Brien’s supposed nightly arrival.</p><p>Thomas folded up Richard’s resume and put it inside his desk drawer for safe keeping.</p><p>“Why don’t you think it over,” Richard advised. “It’s very late. I’ve a room at the Grantham Arms-“</p><p>“Stop,” Thomas teased. Richard did so. “You’re being silly now.”</p><p>Richard shrugged, quite pleased with himself.</p><p>“Do you want to speak to his lordship?” Richard asked.</p><p>“He won’t be bothered,” Thomas said. “As a matter of fact, this ought to cheer him up. What with his mother’s death-“</p><p>“Ah yes…” Richard mused. “Well if it’ll put a spring in his step, why not.”</p><p>“Mr. Carson might take issue with challenging the old ways, but I’ll handle him,” Thomas shrugged. “He’s gone home for the night anyways and with luck he won’t be back for a while. Unless someone else dies.”</p><p>Richard snorted. Mrs. Hughes glanced at him, wary of his nonchalant attitude.</p><p>“So shall I collect my things from the inn?” Richard asked. “And we’ll call it a deal?”</p><p>But where Mrs. Hughes had questioned his sanity and Bates had questioned his motives, Thomas had to question his heart. This was an enormous step for them to take and he didn’t quite know where he fit into all of it. Was Richard making a mistake? Were they both throwing themselves head long into a battle that they could not win?</p><p>“Are you sure…” He could not help but ask. He had to know. The question was burning a terrible hole within him, threatening to eat him from the inside out. It did not seem plausible, logical, that Richard would do all of this for him. “Are you sure that won’t regret this? Leaving the king, leaving London… doing this?”</p><p>Richard’s eyes were like vortexes for the soul, drawing Thomas in till it seemed he was drowning in the blue.</p><p>“Are you sure that you’re making the right choice?” Thomas asked. “What with everything that we have to endure-“</p><p>“Yeah.” Richard said. “It’s my choice to make-“</p><p>“Yes, but it’s my consequence to bear!” Thomas blurted out. Once more, Richard was silent, those beautiful eyes of his holding Thomas deep within their pools. They’d forgotten the others in the room. Mrs. Hughes… Mr. Bates. They did not exist in their world, now. “This place is not what you think it is. There are things that you do not know.”</p><p>“Every place on earth is like that,” He agreed.</p><p>“But it’ll exhaust you,” Thomas said, speaking from experience, “Especially the people. You think they’re one thing, but they’re not. Carson in particular. You think that you’re safe but… you’re just alone.”</p><p>“No, I’m not,” Richard disagreed.</p><p>“You’ll regret this. You’ll regret your reasons.”</p><p>“No, I won’t,” Richard refuted again.</p><p>“But how can you be sure?” Thomas pressed, more urgently than before. “How can you be absolutely certain? This is your life, Richard, don’t throw it away-“</p><p>“I’m not,” He said. And, for whatever reason or another, he was beginning to smile. “And you know I’m not.”</p><p>No… Thomas supposed he did know.</p><p>Richard’s smile grew broader, that beautiful Cheshire grin which Thomas admired so. “Do you trust me?” Richard asked.</p><p>And though Thomas had not known him for long, and had not seen him since late October, he knew in that moment that Richard could be trusted in all things. That he, beyond all men, had a plan for the future and a way to follow it through. For the first time in a long time, Thomas felt like he could look to someone for direction and follow with confidence.</p><p>“Yes,” Thomas said.</p><p>Richard was satisfied. “Which room is yours?” He asked. “I’m guessing we sleep in the attic, right?”</p><p>“R… right,” Thomas said. Could it be possible this was really happening? A joy was spreading through his chest; he was shocked to find he was beaming. It was the first time he’d ever truly smiled in Carson’s old office. “Yes, of course. My room is the second on the left.”</p><p>“Is there one close to you that’s free?” Richard asked. And indeed, there was.</p><p>“The one to the left of it,” Thomas said.</p><p>“Good,” Richard put his hat back on his head. “I’ll take that one and be right back. My things are at the Grantham Arms in town, I booked a hotel room just in case. A wagonette brought me up. I’ll go collect my things and return. I’ll see you very soon.”</p><p>He left, just as easily as he’d come. In his wake, he left a blissful Thomas and an utterly baffled Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Bates.</p><p>His breath was catching in his chest. He could hardly breath for the joy spreading through him.</p><p>Richard was working at Downton Abbey. Richard was sleeping in the room across from him. They were to see each other every day. They would be able to speak in private again. Perhaps, they might even kiss once more if Thomas was lucky.</p><p>Instinctively, he reached up and touched his throat; the cool touch of his fingers were jarring against his heated flesh.</p><p> </p><p>“…Thomas, what on earth was that?” Mrs. Hughes demanded.</p><p>He was still smiling, beaming even. He didn’t even know what to say.</p><p>“It wasn’t O’Brien,” He tried to diffuse.</p><p>“No, it was not,” She warned. “And you are smiling.”</p><p>“Hmm?” He looked up, and found her wary of him. Was his smile something to be so concerned over? “oh… I guess I’m pleased.”</p><p>“Yes, you are. And that’s what worries me.” She warned. Thomas bristled, unhappy at his pleasure being treated as a malicious omen.</p><p>“Do you know why he’s come back?” Bates asked.</p><p>“Not the foggiest,” Thomas lied.</p><p>“Are you lying?” Bates seemed to have a bead on Thomas’ intellect. He bristled again, his good mood quickly turning sour. But how could he be unhappy when the love of his life was to work at Downton alongside him? Tonight was a night for joy, no matter what his co-workers said.</p><p>“No I’m not, and whatever it is, it’s his secret and not mine,” Thomas lied, for in fact it was both their secret. “And does it matter?”</p><p>“I should imagine that depends on what the secret is,” Bates said. Unable to answer that without damning himself, Thomas stepped around his desk and headed for the door.</p><p>“I’m going to tell Lord Grantham,” Thomas said. “He’ll want to know at once. Will you watch the door for his return?”</p><p>“Yes,” Mrs. Hughes said. She didn’t look happy.</p><p>But frankly, Thomas didn’t care.</p><p>Off he went, practically skipping as he headed down the hall and up the servant’s stairs. In his wake, Bates and Mrs. Hughes were left alone with one another in a tense silence.</p><p>“… Do you believe him?” Bates asked Mrs. Hughes. “That he doesn’t know the secret?”</p><p>“No,” She grumbled. “I do not. And I do not appreciate being lied to.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Upstairs, oblivious to Bates and Mrs. Hughes and their cynicism, Thomas headed for the library only to find it unoccupied. Tiaa, asleep in her crate, offered him no answers as to where her master might be. Thomas then tried the pink parlor, only to likewise find it empty save for Rose who was dusting.</p><p>“Where’s Lord Grantham?” Thomas asked her.</p><p>“He’s in the small library, Mr. Barrow,” Rose replied. This was bizarre because Thomas had just been in there and hadn’t seen the man. Confused, Thomas returned to the library and focused on its northern tip. Sure enough, he found Lord Grantham huddled in the corner, his leatherback armchair turned away from the main door so that no one could see him unless they knew he was there.</p><p> </p><p>He looked utterly miserable.</p><p>“..M’lord?” Thomas spoke up. Lord Grantham jerked as if from a daydream, and turned to see Thomas in the door.</p><p>“Barrow… forgive me I was… well…” Lord Grantham never did say what he ‘was’.</p><p>Eager to put him in a better mood, Thomas continued. “I’m sorry to bother you but… I have some good news and I thought you’d like to hear it.”</p><p>“Good news,” Lord Grantham didn’t seem to imagine such a thing could exist in the world anymore.</p><p>“M’lord, I’ve vetted an applicant for your valet, and Mr. Bates is satisfied with him. He starts tomorrow.”</p><p>“Ah…” Still Lord Grantham didn’t smile. “Not exactly good news to me. Just news.”</p><p>Thomas hadn’t seen the man so blue since Lady Sybil had passed (and that had been a level of grief far beyond this). “Well, there’s more M’lord,” Thomas said. “Do you remember the royal visit?”</p><p>“A bit hard to forget.”</p><p>“Well, his majesties valet, Mr. Richard Ellis, has returned to Yorkshire. He was raised here. He was the one who enquired and that I chose.”</p><p>At this, Lord Grantham blinked bemusedly, slightly sucked out of his grief by such a bizarre idea. “My valet… is to be the valet of the King of England?”</p><p>“Mhmm,” Thomas nodded, smiling brightly. “That’s not so bad, now is it?”</p><p>“Well…” and even in his grief, it was clear that Lord Grantham was amazed. “Golly gumdrops, I never thought the day would come. My mother would have…” he swallowed, looking down at the faded rug beneath his feet. “She would have been pleased; I think.”</p><p>“So do I,” Thomas said, though in truth, he didn’t give half of a damn what the old dead bat thought. “He’s returning from the Grantham Arms, M’lord, he booked a hotel room in case I said no. He’s collecting his belongings and returning here.”</p><p>“Well then… what more can I say?” Lord Grantham shrugged. “Thank you, Barrow. You’ve given me a tiny ray of sunshine on a bleak dark night.”</p><p>He wasn’t Carson and wouldn’t stand there soothing Lord Grantham like a father figure.</p><p>He wasn’t Bates and wouldn’t attempt to dig deeper to help Lord Grantham like a friend.</p><p>He nodded politely, saw himself out, and tried not to feel too annoyed with the man.</p><p>But <em>god </em>he could be exhausting sometimes.</p><p> </p><p>Thomas was floating on air as he returned to the servant’s stairwell. It all seemed bizarre, to imagine that with a few flicks of his wrist he’d changed his entire scenario. This morning, he’d be alone in a house full of people that annoyed him with all but certain doom hanging over his head par the return of O’Brien. Now, of all things, he was preparing to receive Richard Ellis into the abbey and would be rooming side by side with him! It seemed impossible, like something out of a dream…</p><p>Christ, who even <em>cared </em>about O’Brien now?</p><p>So excited was he that he almost ran into Baxter coming up the stairs. She was grinning from ear to ear, like a mad woman in her delight. Behind her, gasping for air, was Moseley. Albert was heading upstairs and carrying with him a set of linens.</p><p>“Albert, take those to Mr. Bates’ old room and make up the bed for Mr. Ellis,” Thomas ordered.</p><p>“Yes Mr. Barrow,” Albert was off like a shot up the stairs.</p><p>“Mr. Barrow, is it true?!” She demanded.</p><p>“It is,” Thomas was on the verge of sweating, “I just told his lordship. Is he back yet?”</p><p>“No, not yet-“ She followed him as he continued down. “I can’t believe it. What on earth is he doing here? I thought you said-“</p><p>“I know what I said!” Now Thomas was the one grinning as they hit the bottom step.</p><p>“Well I’m very happy for you,” She was beyond happy, she seemed positively thrilled at this point. But this wouldn’t do, he had to keep Baxter off the scent-</p><p>“I don’t know what your happy for,” He argued, pushing past two housemaids to head for the area yard. He’d wait for Richard there, he decided. “We needed a valet and we got one, it hardly concerns us who it is-“</p><p>“Oh Thomas!” She complained, she grabbed him by the arm, forcing him to stay still for just a second. “Are you really going to sit here and tell me that Richard Ellis coming here is an absolute coincidence and that it has nothing to do with you at all?”</p><p>“Precisely,” Thomas lied. He jerked his arm out of her grip. “Get off me.”</p><p>“Thomas Barrow you are a heathen and the lord will smite you some day,” She complained loudly. But she was smiling, and there was an amused air to her voice.</p><p>“Maybe!” And he could not help but a cheer a bit, “But today is not that day!” He punched a finger to the air. Baxter beamed. Moseley, at the back, was utterly confused.</p><p>“What is going on?” He demanded.</p><p>Baxter laughed, waving him off. “Go get Mrs. Hughes and tell her to help Albert set up the room for Mr. Ellis.”</p><p>“This feels like some weird hallucination,” Moseley claimed as he wandered off. Thomas couldn’t blame him.</p><p>He headed for the door to the area yard, only to speed up at the sound of the doorbell.</p><p>“Ah!” he exclaimed. “Right on time!”</p><p>Baxter made to turn and leave, but her delight got the better of her and she returned to his side. Thomas unlocked the door and opened it, eager to help Richard set up his room—</p><p>And then just like that, everything came to a shattering halt.</p><p>In the doorway, he found not only Richard but also a woman with gray hair in a bob and eyes like steel. Her strong jaw and hateful gaze made her identity undeniable. But she was old now, much older than Thomas remembered her… and the years had clearly not been kind. The color was gone from her hair, and whatever warmth had been left within her eyes had likewise fled.</p><p>Sarah O’Brien looked like she’d been aged twenty years, not seven.</p><p>She sneered at the sight of Thomas, gaping like a fool in the door. With a brusque shove she forced her way past, causing him to be flattened along the wall. Baxter had to step out of the way, her eyes wide at the sudden arrival. O’Brien’s black dress billowed behind her, looking like a witch’s shawl on a stormy October night.</p><p>Tentative, Richard stepped through the door and shut it so that they were once again sequestered in the hall. He set his two valises onto the floor and took off his hat once again.</p><p>“Who the hell was that?” He muttered.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Thomas drew a shuddering breath, “The devil.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Rocking the Wagonette</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Richard and Thomas settle in to life at the abbey, though O'Brien makes her presence known every chance she can get. However, the sudden calm is ruptured by a shocking and violent storm.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings for this chapter contain spoilers. Please see the end notes if you are triggered by anything. </p><p>I wanted to say thank you to everyone who personally commented on the last update. Things are slowly getting better though it will obviously take a great deal of time for me to feel fully comfortable in the UK. Any of my readers who are in the UK, let me hear from you. If you're in the area of Buckinghamshire, I'll be close.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If Thomas had imagined what heaven was like before meeting Richard Ellis, he might have thought that it was something along the lines of a life free from scrutiny. Maybe a sunny day where he’d be able to walk hand in hand with the love of his life before all and sundry. A cheering crowd raining flower petal down upon their love, and a blessing from the pope himself while he was at it.</p><p>But now, life was firmly in the ‘after meeting Richard Ellis’. Regular people listed history in terms like ‘Before Christ’ and ‘After Death’. But Thomas was not regular by any stretch of the imagination, so his life had a different scheme. His life, before meeting Richard Ellis, was much like old testament. Harsh, unforgiving, and full of mayhem. His life after meeting Richard Ellis was much like the new testament. Delightfully controversial towards authoritarianism, with a hot guy that had a heart of gold possibly getting nailed with wood.</p><p>There were so many things that had changed, so many tiny indescribable little things, that it felt as if Thomas had stepped into an alternate reality where everything and nothing was the same. He still got up in the same bed, and ate from the same plates, but he could hear Richard in the mornings humming a tune while he ironed his suit and when he ate Richard sat next to him. He served the Crawley family and he kept order with the staff, but as he walked about the halls he was accompanied ever presently by Richard and when he had to discipline the maids Richard was always there in the corner egging him on with that Cheshire cat grin. The others were baffled, partly because they’d assumed Richard despised Downton after the royal visit and partly because Richard was such an enigma. He was pleasant but distant and didn’t make to find friends with the others though he never gave them cause for alarm. He was both in touch and out of reach, and it seemed that it bothered people like Anna heavily. She’d been nothing but polite, and so had Richard, but she could sense they weren’t friends. That didn’t sit right with her.</p><p>She was waiting for Richard to reveal his hand and become nasty. Thomas could sense they all were.</p><p>It wouldn’t happen. Richard was far too smart for that.</p><p>But all of this joy, which ought to have filled Thomas with nothing but bliss, was tampered heavily into sorrow and gloom by the return of O’Brien. It was difficult to say if Thomas simply hadn’t remembered her correctly, or she’d somehow turned nasty. He had this niggling feeling that she’d been kinder before, that somehow, she’d held lines in the sand and had had a strict moral code that she’d adhered to (no matter what Carson thought). No, however, O’Brien had fully blown her sand lines away. She was vicious, spiteful, cruel, and vindictive. Instead of attempting to make allies with the new maids or learn the family gossip, she kept everyone at a cricket field’s length. There was no one too big or too small for her disdain, and all who dared to speak in her presence were met by near constant reminders of how much she hated not only them, but her place of employment.</p><p>Thomas had to wonder what on earth had happened to O’Brien in India and London, to make her so terribly angry.</p><p> </p><p>It was two weeks after Richard’s arrival to the abbey, and life was slowly but surely settling back into normal. Lady Edith was due to arrive with Lord Hexham for a party that was being thrown in honor of their upcoming first child. To the adoring public, this appeared to be Lady Edith’s first birth (though the staff knew better), and much hubbub was made in the way of presents from doting spinster aunts and old friends from afar. Lady Mary, for her part, tried not to act jealous and simply contented herself with errands involving Branson and Tablot’s cars. Like every day since Richard’s arrival, Thomas sat by Richard’s side during teatime, simply soaking in his presence like sponge cake might soak in brandy. The pair of them were inconspicuous through Richard’s designs, all professional and courteous above table. Below table, however, the very tip of Richard’s oxford flat was touching Thomas’ ankle bone. The sheer sensation of leather meeting flesh was such that Thomas found himself becoming mesmerized, unable to focus on the conversations floating about the table.</p><p>Every so often his eyes flicked from the newspaper to Richards’ beautiful face. A sort of double-check, to ensure that reality was still going forward full stop.</p><p><em>Are you still here? </em>Thomas would wonder, every moment his eyes left Richard’s face. But then he’d glance back, and Richard would still be there, smiling away.</p><p><em>Yes. </em>He seemed to say.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Anna was once again attempting to make conversation. Despite the fact that O’Brien was sitting at the other end of table, she was clinging onto the notion that business was the usual. That Downton was still running smoothly.</p><p>It wasn’t. Their two new guests had thrown the whole damn place into a circus.</p><p>“So tell me about yourself,” Anna offered, glancing up to Richard who paused mid-stroke of Thomas’ ankle to eye her warily. “Where do you come from?”</p><p>“York,” Richard replied.</p><p>“that’s nice,” She said with a pleasant smile; every so often she’d have to glance down to make sure that she was crocheting correctly and not making a pig’s ear. “I’m from Huddersfield.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Richard quipped. Anna snorted, eyes down as she did a knit and pearl pattern.</p><p>“It’s not particularly a scenic town.” Anna agreed. As she spoke, she pulled her yarn clean through. Thomas realized that she was making a jumper for her unborn baby.</p><p>And then, as Anna looked up to continue her conversation, Richard once again marveled Thomas by simply turning his head and looking at him instead.</p><p>And just like that, Anna’s conversation was over, and Richard was focused solely on Thomas. He could barely breath for the exhilaration of it all.</p><p>Underneath the table, Richard’s toe nudged at Thomas’ ankle. They stared at one another, soaking in each other’s presence like sop might to a toasty bun. Christ, it was divine.</p><p>Speaking softly, Thomas leaned in so that he and Richard might carry on by themselves. It was as intimate as if they were in bed with one another, whispering in the dark. “I wondered what happened… I called and they said you were gone.”</p><p>Richard grinned, relaxing in his chair. The ease at which he existed made Thomas feel that all was right in the world. Like nothing could be wrong.</p><p>“Who picked up?” He asked. His voice had a velvety smooth quality to it that Thomas simply could not get enough of. It was like liquid sex, oozing through Richard’s timbres.</p><p>“The Page of the Backstairs,” Thomas put on a pompous air as he said it. Richard snorted, holding back a laugh.</p><p>“Chucked in the towel,” He explained. “He was furious, the whole sodding lot of them are. Daft cows, thought I was mad.”</p><p>“Does he know where you went?” He had to admit, it would be rather amusing if that pompous prick had known Richard was returning to the den of hedonism that was Downton Abbey. They’d rolled in like thunder and rolled out like scared cats, desperate to get away.</p><p>“Nah,” Richard shrugged, at ease. “I don’t care what they think anyway. Any of their lot. But as soon as I’d said it, they told me to chuck it. Wouldn’t even grant me a phone call. I was lucky to get a valise out. You’d have thought I murdered someone the way they treated me. They couldn’t imagine a life without service… So I had to make a move an’ fast. I’m sorry for that.”</p><p>“It’s alright,” He felt like he was being courted, how sweetly that Richard worried for his person. “I was just worried.”</p><p>“Bout?” And there was the cheeky fishing again. Wanting a compliment, and certainly deserving it.</p><p>He leaned in, speaking softly lest the others hear. “Never seeing you.”</p><p>But Richard just kept on schmoozing, stirring his tea with an absent spoon. “Ah, bit of a stretch that one. I’m rather… drawn to you.” And the way he said ‘drawn’ would have made Mr. Carson’s hairs rise up.</p><p>But right as Thomas began to fish for a compliment himself, eager to see just how cheeky he could be in front of the others and not get caught, the well of conversation was evaporated entirely by the arrival of O’Brien. Like an ominous shadow, she draped herself in the doorway, gloating at them all as if she thought them utterly pointless.</p><p>For a moment, she simply stood there, dressed in a threadbare black dress that had fallen out of fashion twenty years ago. Perhaps she hadn’t had the money to buy a new one. Maybe she liked the style. Either way, it made her look like a dour old maid, which her gray hair did not help but accentuate.</p><p>It both flattered and diseased her, making her appear an entirely ghastly but captivating creature. She took her seat at the far end of the table, almost completely opposite. There, she had the audacity to strike up a cigarette, which was a shocking change of character from her normal desire to smoke in private away from scandalized eyes. It seemed that she simply did not care what they thought anymore.</p><p>Gertie meekly made to fill her a cup of tea. She did not touch it.</p><p>The momentary silence was disrupted by the arrival of Andy, who was pallid in complexion and was fretting nervously with his hands. He spotted Anna and made a beeline for her.</p><p>“Anna, where’s Mr. Bates?” He asked.</p><p>“Looking at our property,” Anna said. “Why?”</p><p>“I need to talk to him,” Andy said, “Man to man, can you telephone him from Mr. Barrow’s office?”</p><p>“I can if Mr. Barrow lets me,” But Anna didn’t sound entirely convinced that such desperate measures were called for. Yet before she could ask, an ugly snort from the far end of the table showed the others just what O’Brien thought about Andy needing a ‘man to man’ sort of chat.</p><p>It had been so long since topics of conversation had been off limits. They’d forgotten and had grown easy in their pace. O’Brien was quick to bite them at their ankles and remind them of just what they were up against.</p><p>“…Something funny, Ms. O’Brien?” Andy asked. It was clear that he did not find any of this amusing.</p><p>“Man to man, what are you fifteen?” She sneered. He flushed a hot pink, cheeks warming at the insult.</p><p>“I’m twenty-five, thank you very much,” He replied in clipped tones.</p><p>“Hardly even shaving,” she declared. This, for some reason, seemed to humiliate Andy the most. Somehow, being referred to as young was not nearly as demeaning as being alluded to as baby faced. To be fair, Andy didn’t have that much to shave normally, just a tiny bit of hair on his upper lip. Pour some milk on it and a cat could lick it off.</p><p>Not that it mattered.</p><p>“That’s none of your business!” Andy was getting hot under the collar, but this would only give O’Brien the upper hand. He had to remain calm and collected at all times, or she’d destroy him. Sensing his doom was imminent, Thomas intervened.</p><p>“Silence!” He barked. His command was so sudden and shocking that several conversations died out, not just Andy’s and O’Brien’s. She looked at him with contempt, for how dare he have the audacity to tell her what to do even if he was butler?</p><p>“… Andy, do not engage in that sort of behavior, it is beneath you,” Thomas warned him. “I hold you to a higher standard than that.”</p><p>The pink in Andy’s cheeks began to cool down. Stepping in, Anna tried to save the situation, “Surely you can talk to Mr. Barrow or Mr. Ellis if it’s urgent? I don’t know when Mr. Bates will be back.”</p><p>“Well…” Nervous, Andy glanced from Thomas (a solid and steady course) versus Richard (who was too new to judge rightly in these situations). “Maybe Mr. Ellis might be able to help me.”</p><p>That was like a slap in the face. “Thanks,” Thomas drawled. Beneath the table, Richard’s foot pressed to his ankle.</p><p>“Not so much of a surprise, is it Thomas. When you’re a woman yourself,” O’Brien said, blowing out a long column of smoke.</p><p>“Mr. Barrow is the butler now, Ms. O’Brien!” Anna was so quick on her retort that Thomas had scarcely opened his mouth before she’d given her own reply. For some reason, she’d grown cold from O’Brien’s meddling. Perhaps becoming a mother had worn her patience then when it came to bothersome people. “You don’t to speak to him like that anymore. You show him respect, or you find other employment. I take it you had problems in that department.”</p><p>O’Brien fell silent. For a moment, she and Anna simply glared at one another, old enemies drawing up a new sword.</p><p>Slightly out of his depth, Richard interjected. As he spoke, he brought back a level of calm to the conversation. “Listen, I’d be glad to help but I’m sure Mr. Barrow could answer your question, whatever he is.”</p><p>Andy chewed on his bottom lip, sizing Richard up. Perhaps sensing he could be trusted, he tentatively agreed. “Can I talk to you two in private, then?”</p><p>“O’course,” Richard said. He stood up and slid his chair back under the table. Thomas followed suit even as Richard said, “Come on, Thomas.”</p><p>But even as Thomas, Andy, and Richard made their way down the area hallway, Andy seemed to deflate in confidence. He hassled back to Anna, begging her, “Anna, you too? Please?”</p><p>Confused at all this hush talk, Rose spoke up with a mouth full of digestive, “Why can’t you just talk here? What’s the big problem?”</p><p>Andy fretted, opened his mouth, but failed to communicate. Thomas interjected, whispering in his ear. “Andy, if it’s serious you must talk with us in private. Remember who else is in this room.” His eyes drifted knowingly to O’Brien, who was still glaring sullenly from her end of the table.</p><p>Andy caught Thomas’ eyes, saw his intent, and nodded.</p><p>“Mrs. Bates,” Thomas ordered, “Come with us please.”</p><p>She abandoned her knitting project on the servant’s table and followed them. Something about this conversation had rattled her nerves. She looked irritated, where before she’d been quite content. They entered Thomas’ office, and he held the door for the three of them to shut it once they were all inside.</p><p>“Now, what’s the problem?” Thomas asked.</p><p>“Well…” Andy shifted from foot to foot, desperately searching for the right words.</p><p>“If it’s a man to man conversation, I shouldn’t be involved,” Anna said.</p><p>“Well… you’ve been…” Andy gestured to her,” You are… you know…”</p><p>Anna blinked, perturbed. “No, I clearly don’t know.”</p><p>“P-pregnant,” Andy finally blurted out the word.</p><p>“Oh!” She was shocked. After a moment of reproach, she said. “Well… why does that matter exactly?”</p><p>“Because…” He looked from Anna and Thomas, who were confused, to Richard who seemed to be mentally judging Andy for a bit of a putz. “Because… I think Daisy… might be… pregnant.”</p><p>Thomas made a noise under his breath. Pregnant women indeed, “Not my forte,” He grumbled, raising his hands in mock defense.</p><p>“I know!” Andy blurted out, pink flaring back up into his cheeks. “But that nasty woman wouldn’t let it go!”</p><p>“Try not to talk about anything around her,” Anna urged. “She’s a bully.”</p><p>“What a pleasant word for it,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes.</p><p>Trying to change the tide of conversation back to something she could manage, Anna asked, “Why do you think Daisy might be pregnant?”</p><p>“Well…” And now Andy’s cheeks were well and truly red. He bowed his head, “It’s… embarrassing.”</p><p>“You pulled us in here,” Richard said. “You might as well tell us.”</p><p>“I just…” He clearly didn’t know what to say. “Now that the moment’s come I don’t know how to say it.”</p><p>“Are you scared we’ll mock you?” Richard asked, and though it was technically a difficult question it wasn’t said in cruelty or jest. It was an honest question, and it deserved an honest answer.</p><p>“… A bit,” Andy said.</p><p>Richard looked to Thomas. Thomas shook his head. The pair of them looked at Anna, who shrugged.</p><p>“You can tell me,” Thomas finally said. “We all know things about each other- well… Richard aside.”</p><p>“I’m hardly without fault.” Richard said.</p><p>Andy sighed, his nerves melting a bit. Then, he said, “there’s this wives tale that if you….” He made a noise under his breath, humiliated, “If you take some barely and oat grains, and you… get a woman whose possibly pregnant to…. Make water on them… and they sprout, she’s pregnant.”</p><p>Thomas stared.</p><p>He had no idea what to say to that.</p><p>“…What?” He finally asked, certain that he’d simply heard wrong. Surely Andy wasn’t insisting that Daisy had pissed on some hay.</p><p>“Daisy heard the tale and… well… she did it and it happened. So I think she’s pregnant but now I don’t know what to do-“</p><p>Anna held up her hands, forcing Andy to stop talking. “Daisy…” She was too taken aback to continue at first, “Daisy went to the bathroom on a pile of grain?”</p><p>Humiliated, Andy was forced to reconcile with the fact that, in all honesty, this was the dumbest thing he’d ever done. “…. Yes?” He winced, his voice going up an octave.</p><p>Richard stared at Thomas, with a dull sort of contentment that seemed to read as ‘These people are insane’.</p><p>“…. You know… I don’t mean to suggest anything shocking, but I think your best option is to go to the doctor,” Richard said.</p><p>Andy blanched.</p><p>It was as if the lad had completely forgotten that the medical practice existed. Perhaps, in his reliance on wife’s tales and his terror of the idea of pregnancy, he’d forgotten that Dr. Clarkson was the one who could confirm or deny.</p><p>“…O…Oh…” Andy said. “I forgot about that.”</p><p>“Maybe I’m the weird one, from the south, but I feel doctors might be a better shot at a solid answer than weeing on some grain.”</p><p>“I agree,” Thomas said at once.</p><p>“So do I,” Anna said.</p><p>Emboldened, Andy then asked, “Anna, I wanted to ask you how did you know you were pregnant?”</p><p>“Andy,” She gawked. “You don’t ask women that.”</p><p>“…. Well… I’m sorry but… I need to know!” He begged. Taking pity on him, Anna shed him the wisdom that he so clearly desired.</p><p>“If you must know, Mr. Bates and I were trying, so I was watching for the signs, and I had a doctor look into it. Like a sane person,” But she said it with an amused smile. “So go to a doctor and chin up. Hopefully, she’ll be in the family way, and we can start planning for two babies.”</p><p>This finally soothed Andy to a point where he could make sense of the subject. He said, “I’m so sorry for all the suspense. I just didn’t know how to tell you, I felt so stupid!”</p><p>“We’ve all done stupid things,” Thomas said. After all, he’d kissed a straight man in his sleep.</p><p>“I’m certainly in that group,” Richard said. But this was surely a lie. Richard was faultless.</p><p>“Let’s just keep this to ourselves. For god’s sake, don’t mention anything around O’Brien!”</p><p>It might have all ended there, with the four of them leaving the office and going on their merry way. But as Anna gave her advice and opened the door, she was met face to face with O’Brien herself, who’d clearly heard her last sentence.</p><p>“What a fine way to treat an old coworker,” O’Brien sneered. Anna went white, put off at being caught out in an ungenerous light. “It seems old age has changed you. You used to like being an angel when you were younger. What happened? Get too many gray hairs?”</p><p>Flushed, Anna pushed her way past O’Brien and continued on down the hall back to her knitting project. As they left, Thomas made to clearly lock the door to his office in plain sight of O’Brien, and even dared to catch her eyes as he jiggled the handle to ensure the lock had stuck.</p><p>She looked a little put out as he walked away. Perhaps she’d been hoping to steal something when his back was turned or go through the files.</p><p>But he was onto her tricks. He’d been the one to play them, once upon a time.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>After the newfound revelation that Daisy had peed on a pile of grain, Thomas and Richard laughed themselves silly on the gallery floor. There wasn’t much to do, work wise, so the pair of them were able to faff about, walking at a languid pace as they put the world to rights. Of course, Richard was new enough to the house to where Thomas could use the excuse that he was actually just showing the man where things were. Occasionally, Thomas would explain the layout, showing Richard how stairways intersected and where certain cupboards were.</p><p>“It’s not so shocking,” Richard assured him. They paused by the edge of the gallery floor, looking down onto the house below.</p><p>“The weeing on the grain?” Thomas teased.</p><p>“The layout of the house,” He chortled a bit, “Remember Thomas, I used to have to cover massive amounts of ground. This is practically a cottage.”</p><p>“Really? The way you carried on, I figured you were doing more work than usual.” He leaned a bit onto the railing, so that he could stare up at Richard in a slightly flirtatious manner. It felt incredible, to speak to a man in this manner. To be able to tease and faff about just as the others often did. Despite the fact that he was nearly 40, Thomas felt twenty years younger when he and Richard were like this. Perhaps, after a lifetime of being deprived, he was making up for all the sorrows of his earlier years.</p><p>“Nah,” Richard grinned. Thomas noted that he was leaning in as well, so that the pair of them could speak intimately, elbow to elbow on the rail. The nerve of them! “I don’t always do things with the king, but I had to do things <em>for </em>the king. Does that make sense? He didn’t see it happen, but it happened all the same. Lord Grantham’s different. He’s got less to handle, less to prepare and mend…. Honestly, I’m a bit spoiled.”</p><p>“So, you don’t miss wiping the king’s ass?” Thomas teased.</p><p>“I don’t miss clipping his toenails,” Richard said. Thomas made to gag, the pair of them dissolving into fits of laughter. “Or massaging him in the bath, I’m not joking.”</p><p>“So, you’ve seen the royal pecker?”</p><p>“I’ve seen the crown jewels. Enormous balls.”</p><p>And now they were well and truly laughing, staggering as they tried to return to normal. A flicker of a shadow gave way to someone walking up the gallery hall. Thomas might have simply tried to regain his composure and move on, but Richard was persistent with his pleasure. He grabbed Thomas by the hand and tugged him into Lord Grantham’s dressing room. With the door closed, the pair of them hid as someone walked by (it was probably Baxter or O’Brien, god forbid).</p><p>As Thomas turned his head, he noted that Richard was quite close to him, the pair of them pressed into a gap by a mahogany chest of drawers.</p><p>They were nearly nose to nose.</p><p>“Sh-should we?” Thomas gestured to the hall. But Richard didn’t answer. Instead, he slowly reached up and touched Thomas bottom lip.</p><p>The move scandalized him. His heart was suddenly pumping like a racehorse. It reminded him so avidly of that terrible night in York when Richard had saved him from the police.</p><p>“… You have such red lips,” Richard noted. “I couldn’t quite put the shade on them… I thought about it a lot.”</p><p>Thomas exhaled, the heat from his breath moistening the tip of Richard’s finger. He thought he might die from the sensation then and there. The tiniest details of Richard’s person were sticking out to him, reminding him of all that he’d so heavily missed in their parting.</p><p>He noted that the buttons on Richard’s waistcoat had been sown on with a brilliantly purple thread. Now that he really got a good look at it, his buttons were each unique in their own way. What a queer thing, to have a valet who didn’t use matching buttons.</p><p>“…Buttons,” Thomas whispered, touching them. Richard smiled.</p><p>“I like odd buttons,” He said. “An’ the color purple.”</p><p>Thomas made sure to remember that detail.</p><p> </p><p>The noises of women speaking outside the door gave them pause. Richard even went so far as to put his hand upon the sill, so that if someone were to try and open the door, they wouldn’t be able to. This tiny act could be what saved them in the event that they were caught.</p><p>Always circumspect. Always prepared.</p><p><em>“Only I mean to say, I understand where you’re coming from…” </em>That was O’Brien’s voice. Thomas bristled instinctively at the sound but pressed so close to Richard he could feel it too.</p><p>He was slightly taller than Thomas; he angled his chin downwards, the pair of them staring at each other as they listened.</p><p><em>“…Thank you,” </em>And that was Baxter. So, it seemed the two lady’s maids were talking. She didn’t sound happy though.</p><p><em>“I’ve rather missed her ladyship,” </em>O’Brien said. Hard to know whether or not that was actually true. <em>“I expect you’ll be all in the know.” </em></p><p>
  <em>“Not really. There isn’t much that’s happened since you left, to be fair.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Well, maybe there’s more than you think. I was rather hoping the pair of us might be able to catch up. Just between the two of us. A luncheon between lady’s maids. What do you say?” </em>
</p><p><em>“I don’t know…” </em>Baxter was nervous but trying to be polite. This was like trying to gently ask a shark not to eat you. <em>“I’m rather surprised, actually. But if you want to them sure… I will.” </em></p><p><em>Daft cow, </em>Thomas thought irritably. Never give her an inch or she’d take a mile!</p><p><em>“I want to Ms. Baxter,” </em>O’Brien said. <em>“I like you. I’d like to know more about you. Keep that in mind.” </em></p><p>And with that, Thomas heard her walk away. After a moment, the sound of Baxter’s footsteps could be heard retreating in the opposite direction.</p><p>After a moment, when all was silent again, Richard let go of the sill. He had a wary look about him, perhaps not fully trusting that O’Brien actually liked Baxter at all. He was smart to be cautious.</p><p>“…Curious,” Richard whispered. Even if they couldn’t hear anyone outside, it was safest not to make much noise.</p><p>“She’s up to something,” Thomas agreed. “She hates all of us, she doesn’t want friends. I bet she thinks Baxter knows something or has information that she needs. But what?”</p><p>Tilting his head, Richard looked down at Thomas. “What shall we do about it?” he asked. “Meddle?”</p><p>That might have been easy to do if the target was less odious than O’Brien. But their enemy was crafty and cunning and could easily make a bad situation much worse.</p><p>“I dunno,” He admitted. “I really don’t know.”</p><p>Richard tapped the tip of Thomas’ nose.</p><p>“Then we’ll wait until you do,” and the way he said it made all seem right in the world. Like even O’Brien wasn’t so horrid.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Life carried on as normal, despite the fact that Daisy had technically weed on a pile of grain and O’Brien was clearly up to something. The momentary lull of activity was brought to a pause by the arrival of Lady Edith and Lord Hexham, who brought with them a massive party to be hosted for Lady Edith regarding the upcoming birth of her ‘first’ child.</p><p>This was awkward for many people involved. Technically Marigold was Lady Edith’s child, and only the ignorant thought otherwise. By proclaiming Lord Hexham’s unborn babe the first, it was almost as if Marigold were being erased, and that seemed to make Lady Edith dismally depressed. The only way to sooth her was to simply host the most lavish and lovely party, and claim it was for ‘all her children’. Little Marigold was untroubled either way. She couldn’t be bothered about parties, save that she got biscuits and puddings. The real trouble landed on the shoulders of the staff, who were being asked to create a scene from the 1890’s without any of the resources that an 1890’s household would have possessed. As Lady Edith and Lord Hexham arrived, so too did stockpiles of food from the village that Mrs. Patmore had ordered. It resulted in Thomas juggling several tasks at the same time, directing, and pointing with all hands to the pump.</p><p> </p><p>And of course, who should be lurking around the corners like a bloodhound waiting for a scent but Mr. Carson.</p><p> </p><p>Thomas was damned and determined not to let Mr. Carson be in charge. For the most part, he was keeping his head above water, with Andy and Moseley taking care of the hand duties while Albert scraped up the bits in-between. Bates and Anna had come up from the village to offer their aid, so that Richard could focus on Lord Grantham while Bates helped where he could.</p><p>Upstairs the family took tea, preparing for the party by discussing how they would handle the subject of Marigold. Downstairs the servants ran about like ants on clockwork, preparing for the party by screaming at one another while they ticked off tasks.</p><p> </p><p>In the servant’s hall, Thomas carried his planner upon the muscle of his lower arm, ticking off tasks with his ink pen.</p><p>“Andy, I’ve set aside several crystal pieces, I want you to get them in the kitchen and have Mrs. Patmore steam them to sanitize,” Thomas ordered as he passed.</p><p>“Yes Mr. Barrow.”</p><p>“Moseley, Mrs. Patmore’s ordered a great deal of things, will you help her unbox them?”</p><p>“I will, Mr. Barrow-“</p><p>“Should I start on the silver?” Albert asked.</p><p>“Not tonight,” Thomas did not look at the boy as he spoke, instead focusing on filling on the day planner and crossing off events. “Focus on unpacking Lady Edith and Lord Hexham’s things first.”</p><p>“Yes sir!” And the boy was off like a shot, bounding for the stairs. But no sooner had he taken three steps than he was snagged by Carson coming down.</p><p>“Albert, where are you going?” He asked.</p><p>“I’m to unpack Lord and Lady Hexham’s things, Mr. Carson,” Albert said.</p><p>“And who told you to do this?” Carson asked, refusing to let the lad pass.</p><p>“Mr. Barrow, sir,” Albert said.</p><p>Carson let out a long-suffering sigh, and shepherded Albert back downstairs to gesture for the silver pantry. He found a target easily with Anna, who was helping Rose to put up plates in the china cabinet.</p><p>“Anna!” Carson beckoned her over, and she came at once. “Will you please unpack Lord and Lady Hexham’s things?”</p><p>“Of course, Mr. Carson,” And there she went, right up the stairs without a second look to Thomas who was glowering by the head of the table.</p><p>Richard tensed, noting the shift in command.</p><p>“Albert, you start on the silver and be prompt about it.” And off Albert went, casting Thomas an apologetic look. Carson muttered irritably under his breath, “Lest we forget it must be done every day.”</p><p>Thomas did not answer to this, placing his planner upon the writing desk in the servant’s hall so that he could flip without having his arm ache. Richard came to stand beside him, looking over the rest of the tasks.</p><p>“We’ve got to get the rest of the flowers inside, I’ll have Moseley do that-“ Thomas muttered to himself.</p><p>“Let me help with the crystal too,” Richard said. “I’ve polished with the best of them.”</p><p>“Actually, if you could iron Lord Hexham’s clothes that would mean the world to me,” Thomas said. “Can you valet for him and Lord Grantham with no problem?”</p><p>“Easy,” Richard snapped his fingers with a smile.</p><p>That snap caught Mr. Carson’s attention. He came over, examining Thomas’ planner. Thomas tried to lean in front of Carson so as to block his line of sight, causing the man to grow irritable.</p><p>“I hear there was a new hire, along with your old friend,” Carson said.</p><p>Thomas did not even bother looking at the man, flipping to the next page in his planner. “She’s not my friend.”</p><p>“No?” Carson was clearly edging for a fight if he could help it. “I could have sworn that that’s what you called someone you were chummy with.”</p><p>But just as Thomas opened his mouth to really let the son of a bitch have it, his savior came in the form of Richard, who butted his way right into the conversation and made himself comfortable as a ramming barrier for Thomas.</p><p>“Chummy?” Richard defused. “They hate each other. You must be thinking of someone else, Mr. Carson.”</p><p>“Funny,” Carson wasn’t in the mood to be lectured by a new arrival. “I would have thought you eager to stay in the service of his majesty. This is hardly a wise career choice.”</p><p>“This wasn’t a career choice,” Richard explained, “It was a personal choice.”</p><p>“Why,” the man left no room to argue or hide.</p><p>“Personal reasons,” He said it with a smile, which clearly meant ‘bugger off’ in his own language.</p><p>“Such as?” Carson continued, starting to get just a wee bit peeved. But Richard didn’t flinch.</p><p>Richard just shrugged, “It doesn’t impede on my work, and Mr. Barrow is satisfied with my performance, so I don’t honestly feel that it’s pertinent for everyone to know everything about me.”</p><p>“How very open of you,” he drawled.</p><p>But this just served to make Thomas see red. It was one thing for Carson to bother him, but to bother Richard set his teeth on edge and made him want to throttle the man.</p><p>“Mr. Carson!” Thomas cut across before either man could continue their bickering. Carson was taken aback by the severity of his tone, in particular when they were in public. “I am well aware of why you are here, and what you are trying to do. I honestly, could not give half of a damn. Go frolic upstairs, to your hearts content. It will not bother me one inch, but do not make trouble for Lord Grantham’s new valet just because he’s not your favorite anymore.”</p><p>“You are bordering on impertinence, sir,” Carson ground out through clenched teeth.</p><p>“Oh I see.” Thomas set his pen down, re-capping it so that the ink would not blot the page. “Well allow me to rectify that, by being outright impertinent. I might just take a walk, and not come back for a while. Allow you to handle the party instead.”</p><p>“W-“ Carson’s eyebrows shot up into his receding hairline. “You what?!”</p><p>“I’ll go with you,” Richard said, following Thomas out of the room.</p><p>“Mr. Barrow!” Carson bellowed after him. “Come back here this instance!”</p><p>But he didn’t come back. Instead, he elbowed his way past O’Brien who was sulking in the hallway and headed for the area yard. Richard followed him as he exited, and as soon as they were out of the oppressive heat of the downstairs, he took the lead. Once again, he was pulling Thomas by the hand into the first deserted spot that he found. This time it turned out to be the backside of the shed, which was squeezed into a narrow gap that barely held two people side by side. Here, Thomas had shed many an hour smoking cigarettes.</p><p>Now, he was smoking again, but not from a fag.</p><p>“Bastard,” Thomas hissed under his breath. He scuffed at a pebble, causing it to scrape aggressively along the ground.</p><p>Richard pulled out a packet of cigarettes from his trouser pocket and offered one to Thomas. The act of lighting it was almost on the verge of being sexual. Thomas took a deep draw and blew it long and slow away from Richard’s face so as to be polite.</p><p>“He’s just an old man, Thomas,” Richard wasn’t bothered by any of this, it seemed. Perhaps, in his time of servitude at Buckingham Palace, he’d seen it all before. Maybe he had his own Carson, cursing his existence. “Old men who are stuck in the past hate young men like us because we represent the future.”</p><p>But Thomas could remember a time when Carson had gloated at him, calling him a creature of the past. “He’d hate me anyways even if I didn’t.”</p><p>“Would you like to be distracted from it, or talk about it?” Richard asked.</p><p>“Distracted,” For god only knows, nothing would come of talking about his relationship with Carson. It was so long and convoluted, so hard to understand, that he felt he’d be gagging on his tongue by the end of it. He also didn’t want Richard thinking he had baggage. In truth, he could fill a train heading to London by this point.</p><p>“Well, this is the first time that we’ve been alone,” Richard said. “Properly, I mean.”</p><p>Now <em>that </em>caught his attention.  </p><p>He looked up and found Richard’s gaze to be full of a captivating hunger. He was staring at Thomas as if he were the most curious and amazing creature in all the world. What a fine thing for anyone to imagine him to be.</p><p>“I mean… I’ll pull you into any dressing room I can get,” Richard teased. “But you deserve more. Certainly, more than a shed alley.”</p><p>“Oh…” To be fair he had absolutely no idea what to say to that. He’d never thought himself to be deserving of anything, and to hear someone say otherwise rendnered him mute. “I… well.”<br/> </p><p>He trailed into silence.</p><p> </p><p>Richard’s hungry look had grown soft. With a slow, gentle hand, he reached out and carefully took Thomas’ cigarette to cast it onto the pavement. The act, which in truth meant nothing, was scandalizing when coupled with the way that Richard’s fingers brushed over his own. He reached up; Thomas’ heart was beating wildly as Richard slowly put his hand upon Thomas’ face. The feeling of his fingers, warm and heavy, upon his temples, made Thomas feel faint.</p><p>He had no idea what to say. His tongue was thick and heavy in his mouth.</p><p>Richard reached up with his other hand, so that he was now holding Thomas’ face in a tender embrace. He was mentally tracing every line that Thomas possessed, perhaps trying to memorize him by heart.</p><p>But it wouldn’t do.</p><p>Inch by inch, Richard leaned forward. Thomas realized what was about to happen; his mouth was bone dry. He desperately licked his lips, trying to make himself at least a tiny bit more appealing.</p><p>Richard kissed him.</p><p>So often, he’d dreamed about this moment since the time that it had happened last. Now that it was finally upon him, the solid obvious proof that Richard cared about him, Thomas’ mind had gone blank and his hands were shaking. To keep from looking a fool, he gripped onto Richard’s vest. Richard buried his hands in Thomas’ hair, angling the kiss so that they could go deeper.</p><p>
  <em>Christ, this was incredible! </em>
</p><p>But even as Richard pressed Thomas up to the back edge of the woodshed, his tongue plundering his mouth like an archeologist on an expedition, the sound of the area door opening and banging against the opposite wall caused them to jump apart.</p><p>“Mr. Barrow? Mr. Ellis?” It was Andy, that stupid little shite!</p><p>“Christ, Andy,” Thomas hissed bitterly under his breath, wiping his lips free of moisture with the back of his hand. Richard was shuddering, his breath shaking with each exhalation.</p><p>“Twice now,” He muttered irritably. Clearly if ever they were to make progress with this relationship (or whatever it was) they would have to get as far away from Andy Parker as was physically possible. Perhaps on a different continent?</p><p>Maybe the moon.</p><p>“Here!” Richard called out. He hurriedly struck up another cigarette, to pretend they were smoking, and walked out the alleyway into the area yard. Andy was blissful, grinning from ear to ear. As Thomas stepped out after Richard, Andy let out a stream of noises and stepped forward to actually sweep Thomas into a hug. He was shocked, rendered speechless as Andy pulled back to hold him tight by the shoulders.</p><p>“Dr. Clarkson called!” Andy beamed. “He’s confirmed it! I’m pregnant!” And at this, he began to babble, looking to Richard and Thomas, “Me! Pregnant! Can you believe it?!”</p><p>“Not really, because you’re a man,” Richard said. “Surely you mean <em>Daisy </em>is pregnant.”</p><p>“Yes!” Andy nodded enthusiastically. “We’re pregnant!” And he shook Richard’s hand so that his whole arm buckled a bit.</p><p>“Congratulations,” Thomas said, “Please don’t hug me ever again.”</p><p>But it seemed that in his nirvana like bliss of impending fatherhood, Andy could not be fussed. “You know, normally that would hurt my feelings. But tonight, I don’t care!” Andy declared it to all and sundry, head tossed back so that he might shout to the dusky sky. “I’m the happiest man in the world because I’m pregnant! I’m going to be a father!” And he bellowed it so that a few magpies scattered irritably from a nearby oak.</p><p>“Andrew, get back in here this instant!” Carson bellowed from inside the house. “You’re needed upstairs at once!”</p><p>Terrified of being caught out, Andy went running. He almost tripped on the sill of the area door and forgot to close it.</p><p>In the quiet that followed, Richard looked at Thomas and said, “This house is full of sodding lunatics, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Quite.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The party was a resounding success, though beneath the glistening surface of pristine beauty that was the upper class there was a mad scramble to keep things at ease. Richard proved his weight in gold, making sure that not only was Lord Grantham dressed but also Lord Hexham, Branson, and Mr. Talbot. He moved with speed, used to costumes that had far more bits and bobs. Thomas refused to move weight upstairs, instead allowing Mr. Carson to struggle and enjoying every second of it. If the man wanted to be in charge, he could bloody well enjoy the horrors along with the triumphs. Carson made sure to complain as loudly as he could every time Thomas was in ear shot, but Thomas was deaf to the protests.</p><p>He instead focused on cleaning up the smaller tasks that Albert had to drop, and Andy could not focus on. Though it was beneath Thomas’ dignity as butler, he cleared the fireplace of ashes and brought it a bit of chopped wood when it got low. The air was full of talk of babies, with Mrs. Patmore screeching her delight that she was to be a ‘grandmother’. Upstairs and down was abuzz with the gossip of birth, and what sex the babies would be. Now there were three pregnant women in the house, and Thomas was ready to vomit from the exhaustion of it all.</p><p>Buzz it and blast! Let the damnable things be born so that he could be left in peace!</p><p>The hours passed, with the party dwindling late into the evening. Dinner for the servants became a stop-and-grab sort of affair while plate after plate drifted down from the upstairs table. If Thomas caught Andy and Moseley picking at the leftovers, he didn’t chastise them. After all, he was picking at them too.</p><p>In the lull at the very rear of the party, trips upstairs and downstairs began to filter out. Around eleven, Mr. Mason arrived by wagonette, as was part of his now daily routine of chauffeuring Daisy and Andy to and from the house. Tonight, however, he would have to wait. The rich cared not for the concerns of the poor, so while the upstairs were enjoying their little glitz and glamor, the downstairs were ready to keel over in exhaustion. Mr. Mason contented himself with reading a paper by the fire, offered a cup of tea from Mrs. Patmore and a leftover helping of pudding from the upstairs by Daisy.</p><p>Thomas watched O’Brien walk by, wary of her intrusion. Tonight, however, she seemed content to let bygones be bygones, and was instead focusing on completing small tasks for Lady Grantham. Baxter was shadowing around Mrs. Hughes, who kept going on and on about the store cupboards and how they ought to be taken care of.</p><p>With nothing to do, Thomas and Richard sat side by side at the deserted servant’s table, both of them nursing their own cups of tea.</p><p>Mrs. Patmore stuck her head out from the kitchen, practically gloating as she came to Mr. Mason’s side.</p><p>“Have you heard?” She declared. “Our girl’s to be a mother.”</p><p>“I’m so pleased I could do the black bottom,” Mason laughed. The pair of them clinked the rims of their teacups.</p><p>“Us, grandparents!” She was clearly chuffed, despite there being no actual familial relation. “I wonder what my grandmother name shall be.”</p><p>“We’ll consult on it,” Mason assured her. “I’m happy to be anything, so long as I can be near the child.”</p><p>“I like the idea of Gran,” she said.</p><p>“Then Gran you shall be!” Mr. Mason agreed. Pleased with herself, Mrs. Patmore returned to the kitchen, only to be heard telling Daisy, “I want the bairn to call me Gran!”</p><p>“All this talk about babies…” Thomas whispered, head low to avoid making eye contact. He feared that, should Richard see his face, he might know how depressed he was.</p><p>“Bit awkward,” he agreed.</p><p>But it was more than awkward. It was exhausting. So often in his life, Thomas had desperately desired that which he could not have. Now with Richard at his side, it felt in poor form to complain. They weren’t entirely lovers, not yet at least, but they certainly weren’t just friends. Whatever they were was too complicated to define, but it would certainly never amount to children.</p><p>Thomas would never be a father, and that hurt like hell.</p><p>“… Do you ever… get…” He trailed off. For a moment, he considered dropping it, but then he looked at Richard and found the man watching him intently. “Sometimes I want what I can never have.”</p><p>Richard nodded, and carefully pushed his teaspoon in a counterclockwise motion to further dissolve the sugar cube at the bottom of his teacup.</p><p>“Sometimes I do too,” He agreed. It was nice to know the pair of them were both a bunch of soppy sots.</p><p>“Do you ever feel like…” But this was bordering on dangerous topics, things that he really shouldn’t broach with a man he didn’t fully know. What if Richard began to think that Thomas was mentally unhinged? “I shouldn’t say more.” He shook his head, looking away.</p><p>“Please,” he looked back, and found Richard staring at him with such desperate longing that he simply could not deny the man. It seemed that being locked out of Thomas’ thoughts was a worst-case scenario for Richard.</p><p>“Like there’s this weight in your soul, dragging you down,” Thomas whispered.</p><p>Richard answered without hesitation. “I used to, and every man like us that I’ve known has felt the same.”</p><p>There was some comfort in that, an odd feeling that maybe they weren’t as alone as society liked to say. “Did it ever make you do things you shouldn’t?” Thomas asked. “Things that you’d later think ‘why did I do that’?”</p><p>He shrugged and took a sip of tea. It seemed it was still slightly too hot for him because he put the cup immediately back down. “I think we all do, men like us,” Richard said. He pondered for a moment before adding. “Think about it, we’re stuck in a shite situation. We do what we must to get by.”</p><p>He supposed that was true, but it begged the question, “Do you ever wish you weren’t in this situation?”</p><p>“No.” The answer was so sudden, so clear, that it gave Thomas pause. Not even a hint of hesitation, and why? Why, when it felt like everything in the world was stacked against them?</p><p>“… No?” Thomas repeated. Richard just smiled.</p><p>“You sound surprised,” he said.</p><p>“It’s not ideal,” but this was a British understatement at its best.</p><p>“Sure, it is,” Richard refused to look facts in the face. This sort of ludicrous thinking was something that Thomas would normally associate with someone like Christopher, not Richard.</p><p>“How?” He gestured about the room, though in truth nothing in the servant’s hall best indicated the situation. “How is any of this ideal?”</p><p>And then, Richard said something wholly unexpected and entirely wonderful.</p><p>“Because it’s you.”</p><p> </p><p>For a moment, he did not understand what he meant. What was him? Richard must have noticed the confusion in Thomas’ face. He continued on in a gentle voice, never carrying over a whisper lest someone else hear.</p><p>“Sure, I could find some girl and settle down. Have children of my own, and never have to worry about what others thought. But if I did all that, I wouldn’t have you. So, I think it’s a fair trade off, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”</p><p>But that was just… just <em>daft. </em>Romance aside, there was nothing about him that was so compelling he could override society and its protections.</p><p>“Your daft to think that,” Thomas could hardly look at the man.</p><p>“I think you should trust me to know what’s best for me,” he said.</p><p>Thomas’ reply was quick, “An’ you think that’s me?”</p><p>“I know it’s you.”</p><p>“You haven’t even known me for half a year, Richard,” because as much as Thomas would love to live in a fantasy world where their romance was destined for the stars, he could not put aside the facts of the situation. They’d met in October. It was now late December. They’d kissed only twice and had barely corresponded in between the times they’d seen one another. Yes, Thomas wore Richard’s talisman on a chain around his neck, but that was because he was a fool not because they were star crossed.</p><p>“My god-“ Richard was laughing, but it was a quiet tiny thing. Like he found it all insane. He leaned in a bit so that they could speak more intimately. “You make it sound like I haven’t been counting every second I’ve been in your presence.”</p><p>He wanted to believe it. He well and truly did… but he was afraid to.</p><p>“The tiniest things…” Richard paused, perhaps trying to figure out what order he should relay them in. “The things you can’t even care to remember. The freckle on your index finger.”</p><p>Thomas looked down and noted that on his left index finger there was indeed a small freckle right near the joint where it met his palm. He’d known it was there, but he hadn’t really ever cared about it.</p><p>“I stare at it all the time,” Richard said. “When you play with a cigarette or a pen. I just watch it dance back and forth, like a game… How red your lips are? I keep trying to put a name on the color but it’s not easy to do. I bet you don’t even realize but you lick your lips a lot. I’ve noticed that. I always wonder if you’re about to do it again. Those sorts of treasures that you display, I have no right to keep. But I’m a dragon to my hoard.”</p><p>He supposed there were a few things of Richard that he’d hidden, himself. “Your grin is like a Cheshire cat. I think about it a lot. An’ the way you took that shoe brush from my hand.”</p><p>“You telling me you wanted to trick my boss,” Richard grinned.</p><p>“You agreed so quickly,” And it had been such a surprise. Now the pair of them were chuckling, trying to keep their voices down lest they were overheard. “But … just because we’ve had these moments doesn’t mean that I’m right for you. An’ that’s what terrifies me. Because I want so badly to be right for you. But just because I want something doesn’t mean that it’s going to happen. It’s so often that it’s the opposite. I’m the epitome of a bad harvest… God’s constantly ruining my crop even when I’ve only got one bean on the pole.”</p><p>“… Thomas-“ Under the table, Richard reached out and touched him upon the thigh. But this made Thomas think of Jimmy, and just how utterly stupid he’d been to flirt with him. Thomas pulled back a bit, but Richard’s expression did not reflect any hurt.</p><p>“Please,” he protested. “You need to understand, Richard. I am not a good person. If there was ever anything inside me that was worthy of you, it died a long time ago. There are things you do not know about me and if you did-“</p><p>“Do you think me a saint?” Richard asked. There was a hard edge to his voice, a clear quality which warned that perhaps there were things too about him that Thomas was unaware of.</p><p>“… You’re better than me,” Of that, Thomas was sure.</p><p>“I <em>am </em>you,” Richard whispered, with heavy stress upon the ‘am’.</p><p>… And perhaps he was.</p><p> </p><p>The sound of heavy footfalls coming down the stairs broke their solitude. It was Carson, returning with Andrew who looked utterly wiped out and Moseley who was yawning. It seemed that they’d finished locking up the house for the night.</p><p>“Bed, all,” Carson ordered. “First thing tomorrow morning we’ll start on the rest. I want heads on pillows, and promptly.”</p><p>The others began to disband, a few mounting the stairs and some wrapping up their downstairs chores so that the air was full of the sounds of chairs scraping against flagstone. Thomas and Richard alone remained seated.</p><p>Carson caught sight of Richard, “Mr. Ellis, Lord Grantham will be wanting you.”</p><p>“I’m waiting for the bell, Mr. Carson,” Richard explained, gesturing to the bell board.</p><p>“As I say, away with you,” Carson pointed irritably up the stairs. Richard narrowed his eyes, glancing to Thomas who was just a hair shy away from snapping at the first person he saw.</p><p>“I don’t understand, are you butler here, or is he?” Richard asked loudly.</p><p>“What an excellent question,” he did not even try to hide the nasty edge in his voice. “At this point I’m afraid I’m little more than a trained chimp.”</p><p>“Then I suggest you get better at fetching bananas,” Mr. Carson quipped as he walked past. Thomas jerked out of his chair, half-ready to throttle the man for that remark. But Richard grabbed him hard by the elbow and held him to his side so that he couldn’t do anything he might later regret.</p><p>“Ignore it,” Richard whispered in his ear. “It’s how he feels important. He’s just an old man, Thomas, his life is practically over. He’s made his bed and now he has to lie in it.”</p><p>Thomas let out a slow, steadying breath, and thanked Richard with a little nod.</p><p>“Ignore it,” Richard said again. He stroked Thomas’ elbow with his thumb before letting go entirely.</p><p>“Thank goodness,” Daisy yawned, exiting the kitchen with her apron over her arm. Though she’d probably only been pregnant a few weeks, she held her stomach tenderly. “Now we can go to sleep. I was ready to pass out.”</p><p>“I’ll fetch your coat,” Andy was the ever-attentive husband.</p><p>Mr. Mason, who up until now had been peacefully sipping on a cup of tea and hiding in the corner, took up his own coat and donned his hat. He handed his teacup to Mrs. Patmore, who took it away and whisked it into the kitchen.</p><p>“Are you going with us?” Mr. Mason asked Anna and Bates. This would have been the sensible path, after all it was after midnight and they had some ways to walk.</p><p>“I’m going to stay,” Anna said to Bates. “Just in case Lady Edith or Lady Mary need me.”</p><p>“I’ll go, but you can handle things?” Bates asked Richard. Richard shrugged.</p><p>“I’ll be fine,” Richard assured him. “I better go get him settled.” And as if by premonition the bell board began to ring. Richard was up the stairs, but as he passed Thomas noticed that he flashed him a smile.</p><p>“Good, I’ll say goodnight,” Bates leaned in and brushed Anna with a gentle kiss. Thomas tried his hardest not to look jealous by instead taking up avid interest in the fireplace and the soot at the edges.</p><p>“Will you ride on the wagonette, Mr. Bates?” Mr. Mason called after him as he headed down the hall.</p><p>“No,” Bates grumbled. “Messes with my knee.” This was the age-old excuse. Everything from sneezing to a bit of wind seemed to mess with his damned knee. In truth, Bates just liked being alone, and wasn’t keen to snuggle up to everyone else in the wagonette.</p><p> </p><p>With Bates gone, Mr. Moseley stepped up. He, it seemed, would not mind knocking knees with his co-workers.</p><p>“Would you mind terribly taking me home too?” Moseley asked. This was bang out of order, Thomas wanted Moseley at the house. But when Moseley glanced at Thomas there was something furtive in his gaze.</p><p>Something that seemed to say ‘don’t question it’.</p><p>Thomas kept silent, watching with narrowed eyes.</p><p>“Not at all!” Mr. Mason assured him. “More than happy!”</p><p>And then, something very peculiar happened. Baxter, who had been whispering in Daisy’s ear, then turned and said. “I’d like to go too, Mr. Mason. I’m staying over with Daisy tonight… She wants to talk to me about some things.”</p><p>But Daisy was grinning deviously, and it was clear that there was nothing in the cards worth talking about between the pair of them. Thomas’ eyes slid from Baxter, who was blushing, to Moseley, who was staring at him with a pleading look.</p><p> </p><p>Christ… were they…?</p><p>They weren’t <em>shagging </em>were they?</p><p><em>Don’t be ridiculous, </em>Thomas thought, even as Baxter grabbed her hat and coat. <em>Moseley can’t have sex. He’s practically a eunuch. And even if he could, Baxter wouldn’t want to have sex with him. </em></p><p>But then Moseley winked at Thomas. Thomas went green, thinking he might well and truly vomit.</p><p>“I’m going to bed,” He muttered, heading for the stairs.</p><p> </p><p>“Actually…” Mr. Mason called out to him. Thomas paused, glancing over his shoulder to find that the man had become resolved. The others were watching him, perhaps sensing what Mr. Mason was about to do. “Will you come with us?”</p><p>“Why?” Thomas asked. Though his tone was technically polite, there was a venomous edge underneath it. It was late, he was tired, and Carson had rubbed his nerves raw. Tonight, of all nights, was not the one he wanted to speak to Mr. Mason on.</p><p>“I want to speak with you.”</p><p>“We can speak another time.”</p><p>“I want to speak now,” Mr. Mason said.</p><p>Daisy gave Thomas an irritable little tut, clearly annoyed that her ride was being delayed due to his pride. Baxter gave him an obvious look, arms crossed over her chest. Great, now all the women were rounding up on him, ready to give him a hiding.</p><p>“… And how am I to get back?” Thomas demanded.</p><p>“I’ll drive you,” Mr. Mason said. “I’ll give us more time to talk.”</p><p>“So, you’ll drive everyone home, then me home, then you home?” Thomas asked, pointing to each person as he spoke. “That’s a bit of a stretch when it’s after midnight, isn’t it.”</p><p>“It’s worth it,” Mr. Mason said. “We have words to say to one another. It’s time we said them.”</p><p>He looked to Baxter, who raised her eyebrows and mouthed ‘do it’, so that no one else could see. He let out a tiny sigh, rubbed at his brow, and gave it up for lost.</p><p>“Fine,” he said, bitter in his defeat. “Fine.”</p><p> </p><p>The air was quite chilly that night, though snow had not yet fallen. The wagonette had a few blankets on the back for comfort, and everyone loaded up with help from Mason and Thomas. Thomas tried to sit in the back, only to be gestured to the front by Mason. It seemed the pair of them were to share the driver’s bench like before. Annoyed that he would have very little room to wriggle about, Thomas hopped up only to find his path was blocked by a beautiful Purdey 12-bore and a box of spare shells.</p><p> </p><p>“Christ on the cross,” Thomas cursed. “Took my advice seriously, did you?”</p><p>“I thought it best,” Mason offered his hand to pull Thomas up, but Thomas rejected it. Mason put his shotgun down by Thomas’ feet. “I was gifted her by the groundskeeper, Mr. Teirn. She’s one of Lord Grantham’s old shotguns.”</p><p>Thomas picked it up as Mr. Mason clicked the reigns, examining the barrel and the stock. Indeed, it was an old make of Lord Grantham’s favorite hunting shotgun, and one that Thomas had carried often on shoots. It was a good gun, far more expensive than Mason would ever be able to afford as a tenant farmer.</p><p> </p><p>Thomas put it back down beneath Mason’s feet, relaxing on the driver’s bench. They trundled on down the raked path of the Abbey, following out a small fleet of glossy motorcars that turned both left and right on their way home from the party. Thomas glanced over his shoulder to see Carson closing the curtains of the dining hall. The family would be going to bed now, and the servants would follow swiftly after.</p><p> </p><p>Exhausted, he allowed himself to be lulled by the sensation of the wagonette rocking a little upon the road. He reasoned that anything Mr. Mason could say, he would be able to handle so long as he kept his true feelings submerged. He tried to think of Richard, suave and calm. If only he were here now…</p><p> </p><p>“Beautiful night out tonight, isn’t it,” Mr. Mason said.</p><p>Thomas said nothing, though indeed he had to agree. He looked up at the sky, noting that it was unusually clear. As a result, nearly every star could be seen. The moon in particular caught Thomas’ eye; it was in the same shape as Richard’s pendant.</p><p>He touched it through his bibb plate. It was firm and comforting during this awkward moment.</p><p>“You know, Mr. Barrow— may I call you Thomas?” Mr. Mason paused.</p><p>“I have a feeling you’re going to, no matter what I say,” Old men were like that. They lived by different rules within society.  But Mr. Mason was a steady sailor and wasn’t ruffled as he leaned back in his seat and switched up the reigns in his hands. Honestly, the horses probably didn’t need to be driven; they would know this path back to front, having walked it a hundred times during their lives.</p><p>“I’ve always wanted to talk to you,” Mr. Mason explained. “Man to man, if you will.”</p><p>But ‘man to man’ boded ill for him. It was far too personal, far too close to tender topics that made Thomas’ stomach drop.</p><p>Trying to dodge a bullet, Thomas said, “Mr. Mason, as I’ve told you before, we have no business with each other.”</p><p>“I think we do, and I think you know it.” And with that the bullet hit its mark and Thomas winced. What was it about fathers that left him utterly defenseless? But William Mason had been dead since 1918, and Thomas wasn’t in the mood to remember the golden boy’s memory.</p><p>“It’s pointless to rake it all over now,” he complained. “He’s been dead for nearly ten years-“</p><p>“He were my son, Thomas,” once again, he was close to wincing. “He always will be, dead or alive. An’ he told me often about how you treated him.”</p><p> </p><p>It was easy to imagine, William whimpering and whining to his loving father. How he might have cried into his parent’s adoring arms, claiming that Thomas was nothing more than a big fat bully, all the while unaware that he was living Thomas’ dream.</p><p>Thomas turned away, to look out over the countryside. In the dark, it was easy to imagine that the hills and trees were not landscapes but instead the rigid spine of a sleeping dragon.</p><p>He was avoiding his feelings. In the back of his head, Thomas’ own conscience was warning him to pay attention and not be too much of a prat.</p><p>“I suppose it gave you a sense of superiority,” Mr. Mason wasn’t unkind in his tone, but perhaps slightly disappointed. “Pretending to be in love with Daisy.”</p><p>Bitter, Thomas began to curl inward and act a bit childish. “How do you know I wasn’t in love with her?”</p><p>But just like his own father, Mr. Mason cut right to the quick and wounded Thomas like he were stabbing him with a sword. “Because you’re not attracted to women.”</p><p>He slowly looked back around. Mr. Mason was staring at him, slightly warning that Thomas should not lie or dissuade. He wondered how Mr. Mason had guessed, and once again it burned him to realize that there was something about him he could not change nor sense which gave him away almost instantly to others. The butler of Cheltam Hall had said <em>“You’re a delicate looking fellow, aren’t you”. </em></p><p>What was it that they were seeing which Thomas could not? Was it written into the very core of his being? Was it tied up in his sinews and tendons so closely that he could sooner saw off his arm than deny his nature?</p><p>“… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Thomas lied, his tone deadly, “An’ if you were a younger man I’d whollup you for sayin’ that.”</p><p>Mr. Mason returned his gaze to the road. Thomas did not.</p><p>“I assume your parents must have known,” Mr. Mason continued. Thomas’ stomach flipped from the sensitive broach. “Particularly your father. I can tell he didn’t treat you well, an that’s why you’re taking it out on everyone else-“</p><p>“Alright you know what?” Thomas snapped, cutting the man off brusquely before he could continue, “You can shut your bleedin’ gob, you daft git. I don’t care how old you are anymore, if you mention me da’ again, I’ll let you have it I swear I will.”</p><p>His blood was pumping wildly in his veins. He was close to striking Mason, to just well and truly letting him have it. But calm as could be, Mason continued to drive along as if Thomas hadn’t just threatened him with violence.</p><p>He looked at Thomas again. When Thomas had been irate with his father, he’d ended up bleeding or bruised. But after being snapped at, Mr. Mason looked just as calm as before. In a way, it frightened Thomas more than anger. He wondered just how hard it was to make Mr. Mason angry, and what would happen if one did.</p><p>“… I raised six children, son,” Mr. Mason said. “I know the difference between an’ angry child an’ a hurt one.”</p><p>Burned, Thomas looked away back out across the night. This was the worst conversation he’d ever endured, and that included when Carson had shouted at him after kissing Jimmy.</p><p>He wrapped his arms about his stomach, and rocked a bit in his seat, wishing to god he could be anywhere else. He thought he might be sick from nerves. And why? This man wasn’t his father for god’s sake.</p><p>“I suppose that’s what I’ve always wanted to say to you,” Mr. Mason carried on. His tone was gentle, but his words were incredibly serious. Unable to get away, Thomas was forced to endure the pain of hearing someone care about him. “That I can look at you and see how badly you want the approval of Mr. Carson.”</p><p>Thomas gave a start. When had this conversation shifted from his father to Mr. Carson? But as he blinked owlishly at Mr. Mason, the man just carried on with a sage nod. “Oh yes, son. Whether you realize it or not, your bound and determined to have the man look at you with kindness. But Mr. Carson has never had any children. I think that’s why he’s oblivious. But I’ve had children, an’ I know. It’s not your fault that Carson doesn’t treat you will.”</p><p>He thought he might cry. Humiliated, Thomas looked back out across the countryside to avoid Mr. Mason seeing the pain in his eyes. He didn’t want to talk about his father, nor Mr. Carson, particularly with a man who had always been known as a good father. Mr. Mason didn’t understand what a treasure he was… or maybe he did and that’s why it hurt all the more. He knew that Thomas wanted a kind father figure, and here he was willing and waiting.</p><p>That was not something that Thomas could easily swallow after nearly forty years of abuse and neglect.</p><p>“Y’don’t know what yer talkin’ about,” He managed to croak out. He had to swallow several times to hide the warble in his voice.</p><p>“I know about sons yearning for their father’s love an’ affection,” Mr. Mason countered. “I know about lookin’ down at a little boy an’ seeing your entire world upon his tiny shoulders. I know a great deal about that.”</p><p>But Thomas’ father had never looked down at him, and if he had he’d certainly never seen his world.</p><p>“Whatever your father did or said, you need to let it go,” Mr. Mason urged. But this was impossible; he could sooner detach his head and carry it around under his arm. “Some men are not capable of loving a child. It’s not the child’s fault.”</p><p>There was wisdom in that, he supposed. He wondered, on the whole, if his father had ever even wanted to be a father. He wondered if instead it was just something that society had pushed upon him till he’d caved and given into the norms. In a way, Thomas supposed he probably shouldn’t have ever been born. He’d been a mistake from the very beginning, brought about by two people that hadn’t honestly loved each other and weren’t ready for children.</p><p>But here he was… and he supposed there was nothing to be done about it now.</p><p>“He knew, didn’t he,” Mr. Mason murmured. “That you’re a homosexual. He knew?”</p><p>Thomas looked at man and found him waiting with a patient stare. No judgement, no confusion, not even curiosity. Just mild-mannered acceptance.</p><p>“… Yes,” Thomas whispered. There could be no denying the truth to somebody who would not indulge in the comfort of a lie.</p><p>“What did he say?” Mr. Mason asked. He casually changed hands with the reigns again. Perhaps in his old age, arthritis was starting to get to him. They were about halfway back to the village proper now, with heavy trees blocking the view of the valley save for the few instances where large drives to neighboring farms cut through. In the distance, the abbey could still be seen, glittering on the mount from the upper windows.</p><p>“…That’s none of your business,” Even now, after the wisdom Mr. Mason had granted him with, he didn’t want to admit those foul words to the air. To remember that awful day, and all the equally awful days that had followed after it.</p><p>But Mr. Mason didn’t seem to agree. “You’re in pain,” he wisely deduced. “That makes it my busines.” They stared at one another, and perhaps for the first time in their bizarre relationship they saw one another truly as they ought to have always seen one another.</p><p> </p><p>A father and a son, not to each other, but respectively.</p><p>“I’m a father, an’ you’re a son,” Mr. Mason was a mind reader, it seemed. “That makes it my business.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Thomas opened his mouth, about to confess the awful words that had damned him to a lifetime of isolation and humiliation. But just as they reached the tip of his tongue, Mr. Mason’s gaze flickered from Thomas to the road. He jerked on the reigns, causing the horses to come to a skittering stop. Thomas looked as well, confused.</p><p> </p><p>Just out of view, save for the far edge of their lantern, a group of men were blocking the road. Thomas could see a few horses, along with a cart, which had been parked sideways so that none could pass.</p><p> </p><p>Beneath the hood of the wagonette, Mr. Mason reached down and quickly grabbed his Purdey 12-bore.</p><p>“Thomas take the reins,” He said. Thomas did as he was bidden, so that Mason could hold the Purdey steady with both hands. It was heavy if handsome model, and the weight of its barrel was such that Mason could not feasibly drive and shoot at the same time. Gun glinting in the moonlight, Mason aimed it in the general direction of the men before them. After a lifetime of following Lord Grantham around during a hunt, Thomas knew for a fact that the scatter pattern would only allow for a few men to be hit at such close range. At the same time, Mason had two barrels to aim from.</p><p>“Whose out there?” Mason demanded. He stood up; gun aimed all the higher.</p><p>“Why have we stopped?” Daisy called out from the back of the wagonette. She crawled on her knees to the front to peer between Thomas and Mason’s legs.</p><p>“What’s going on?” Andy stood up and took the lantern off its hook so that he could hold it out and shine light on the men.</p><p> </p><p>They looked like normal enough men, though they were grizzled. Thomas was surprised to find there was even one or two women in the group, though they were shady things and half a breath away from falling over.</p><p>“Who are those men?” Andy asked Mason.</p><p>Thomas could see motion from the back of the group. Someone was elbowing their way to the front, and rather hurriedly at that.</p><p>His heart sank like a stone at the sight of Christopher Webster, who seemed stricken. When he saw Thomas in the wagonette, there was such fear in his eyes that Thomas knew implicitly they were in mortal danger.</p><p>“Christopher…” The name fell unbidden from his lips. This was a setup, a roadblock meant to kill.</p><p>They were going to die.</p><p>“Whoever you are, come out of the shadows!” Mason demanded, gun still pointed at the group. “There’s a killer on the loose!”</p><p>Thomas could hear nervous breathing in his right ear. He looked a tiny bit over his shoulder to see Baxter’s loose dark curls near the frame of his vision.</p><p>She was standing behind him. She, like he, knew exactly what was about to happen. He could feel her trembling violently. She was touching him timidly in the small of the back, like this act was grounding her.</p><p>And just like that, Thomas was flooded with an intense courage. He could not allow himself to become distracted by thoughts of his father or fears of death. He’d made an oath to protect Phyllis Baxter.</p><p>… And that was exactly what he was going to do.</p><p> </p><p>From the back of the group, a shift began to occur. Thomas knew who he was about to see, even before that charming visage and icy blue countenance appeared through the sea of grim faces. He knew, because he understood what this situation was, and why it was occurring. This was far from a simple stop and frisk by a shoddy local gang. This was premeditated, a clear and careful onslaught of wagonettes coming from Downton Abbey. It suddenly occurred to Thomas, that by asking policemen to walk his staff, and by having Mr. Mason drive the wagonette, he’d made the servants clearly recognizable. In a way, his method of protection had damned them.</p><p> </p><p>Peter Coyle was wearing a fine blue waistcoat with silver buttons, and his hair was parted to the side. He was handsome, but thin and gaunt, and there was a haunted vicious look in his eyes like you might see on a wolf right before it dined on your flesh.</p><p>“Evening,” Coyle said. His voice was dark, but smooth like smoke.</p><p>“Who are you?” Mr. Mason did not waver with his gun. It was their only defense. In Thomas’ hands, the reigns jerked slightly to the left. The horse’s ears were beginning to swivel back. They were cantering slightly, nickering in their nervousness. Like any beast, they could smell evil, and they knew that the man before them was of that accord.</p><p>“Run-“ Baxter grabbed Mr. Mason by the shoulder, begging him. “Run away now!” She screamed it, her voice shrill in the night air. “Go! Get out of here! It’s him! It’s him, that’s the killer-!” She pointed a finger at Coyle, who did not flinch. “That’s Coyle!”</p><p> </p><p>But Baxter’s warning had not served to make anyone in Coyle’s group nervous. The only people who were panicking now were the people in the wagonette. Daisy was holding onto Andy, terrified. Her brown eyes were misted over with painful tears. Mr. Mason now had the gun pointed directly at Coyle’s face, but it would serve them no good at such close range. A gun like Mr. Mason’s needed to be shot from afar, it was meant for large game.</p><p>“No point running, when you’re surrounded Petal,” Coyle said. Baxter shuddered from the name.</p><p> </p><p>But something happened, that Thomas could not understand. Christopher, who stood at Coyle’s side, leaned in and whispered something aggressively in his boss’s ear. There was a dark, keen look on his face. He was earnestly asking for something, though Thomas could not overhear what. Coyle tilted his head slightly to the left, in acknowledgement, but did not respond.</p><p> </p><p>“Get out of the wagon,” Coyle ordered. His tone was no longer suave.</p><p>“Nobody move,” Thomas’ words were rapid, his tone firm.</p><p>“Thomas I’m scared,” Daisy whimpered behind him. Her voice was so tiny, he could barely hear it. Thomas leaned a bit, whispering to Mason out of the corner of his mouth.</p><p>“Mason, how fast can these horses run?” Thomas whispered.</p><p>“I won’t ask twice,” Coyle warned, his tone rising in aggression.</p><p>“Not as fast as you think,” Mason replied in a whisper, “But faster than them.”</p><p>“It’ll have to do,” Thomas whispered.</p><p>“Can you drive?” Mason whispered.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“I drop the gun, he’ll shoot us; I can’t do it one handed.”</p><p>“I move, he’ll shoot,” Thomas agreed.</p><p> </p><p>In a rage at being ignored by potential victims, Coyle exploded with the force of a bomb: “GET OUT OF THE FUCKING WAGON YOU STUPID FUCKING CUNTS!”</p><p>Daisy shrieked, terrified, and held on tight to the front of Andy’s coat.</p><p>Thomas knew that if they sat there ignoring Coyle, the man was going to lose patience and shoot them. A bargain would have to be struck, or at least the attempts of a bargain. It would be the only thing to buy them time, and perhaps save their lives. Thomas also knew that he was the only one in the wagonette who had the mentality to reason with a man like Coyle.</p><p>“What do you want?” Thomas demanded of Coyle.</p><p>“Thomas, you can’t reason with this man-“ Mr. Mason tried to say.</p><p>“Yes I can,” Thomas snapped, warning him with a firm finger. He looked instead to Christopher, who was still keen at Coyle’s shoulder. This would have to be a war of middlemen, it seemed.</p><p>And little did Coyle know, Thomas had Christopher in his pocket.</p><p>“Christopher, what does he want?” Thomas asked. “Is it Baxter? Is that who he wants?”</p><p>Christopher glanced at Coyle, who raised an eyebrow. Perhaps taking this as a silent agreement, he stepped forward just a hair so that Mason instinctively pointed the gun at him instead. Christopher did not shift from nerves, which was a lot to say since Mason was pointing a 12-gauge at point blank range.</p><p> </p><p>“… Just the woman, yeah,” Christopher agreed.</p><p>Thomas looked over his shoulder at Baxter. She was weeping silently; tear tracks obvious in the lamplight upon her pale cheeks.</p><p>“…I’m so sorry, Thomas,” Her voice was so tight with emotion and terror that he could not fully distinguish her words.</p><p>He looked at Moseley, who had an iron light grip on Baxter’s hand. He would not let go for life nor death. Next to him, Daisy was cowering by Andy’s side. Both were terrified. Both were clueless as to what to do. Thomas turned back around at looked at Mr. Mason, who had made up his mind and was somber in his decision.</p><p> </p><p>“Son… Thomas,” Mr. Mason whispered, gun still raised. “I’m going to fire at him. The horses will bolt. Get ready to hold the reigns.”</p><p> </p><p>So it seemed they’d run out of options. Coyle wanted Baxter; he wasn’t going to get her. Several of the men had guns, including Coyle, not to mention horses. If they mounted and pursued, they would probably be shot and killed, but there was a chance they might escape.</p><p> </p><p>Might.</p><p> </p><p>So that was what they were going to have to do.</p><p> </p><p>“Peter Coyle,” Thomas addressed the man frankly. Coyle fixed him with a blazing gaze, his blue eyes lean and hungry.</p><p> </p><p>“… We haven’t been introduced,” Thomas said. “My name is Thomas Barrow. I’m Phyllis Baxter’s best friend... and you can kiss my ass.”</p><p> </p><p>It was the signal that Mason needed. He aimed and fired at Coyle!</p><p> </p><p>In a shite moment of bad luck, the spread did not strike Coyle. Instead, it hit a man to the left of him, who fell over at once dead in a spray of crimson and flesh! Coyle’s retaliation was swift and sure. He aimed his pistol and fired it at Mason.</p><p> </p><p>It got him in the chest, almost directly in the heart.</p><p> </p><p>Mason collapsed backwards, falling in a bloody gasping heap to the floor of the wagonette. Just as he’d warned, the horses whinnied and bolted, terrified of the gunfire so close to their ears! The jerk was so compelling that it threw everyone in the wagonette off their feet. Daisy and Andrew fell into the back, collapsing atop Mosley and Baxter so that they were all flattened. Thomas crashed to the floor of the driver’s bench, now soaked in Mason’s blood. As a result, his hand flew out the side even as the wagonette went surging forward on a team of four horses. The speed and the act caught everyone in Coyle’s group unawares. Three men were run over by the wagonette, the bumping and the screeching jarring Thomas. Everyone else had to duck and run lest they end up the same. Somehow, in an act of queer good fortune, Thomas’ outstretched hand found a handgun that fell from the grip of a criminal as he ran. He snagged it out mid-air, jerking his hand back into the wagonette to keep the gun from himself even as the horses roared down the dirt road.</p><p> </p><p>“GET THEM!” Thomas heard Coyle shouting at his men, who were now mounting their own horses. “GET THEM AND BRING ME THE BITCH ALIVE! AND THAT BARROW!”</p><p> </p><p>Clinging to the bloodied seat, Thomas staggered back up and snagged the reigns, which were flapping out of control between the two back horse’s holsters. He tossed Andy the handgun, who caught it in mid air and pointed it back over their shoulders towards the party now storming after them.</p><p>“Keep to the front!” Moseley shouted over the rip of the wind and the clatter of the road. He pushed both Baxter and Daisy to the opposite side of the driver’s bench, forcing them down so that their heads were safe from carnage. The girls were screaming, terrified, clinging to one another. Daisy was crying audibly.</p><p>“Thomas I can’t shoot!” Andy shouted, holding on with one hand to the back of the driver’s bench.</p><p>“Can you drive?!” he demanded, because he sure as hell couldn’t and they were all over the road.</p><p>“Yes!”</p><p>“Then take the bloody wheel!” Thomas handed the reigns to Andy, who gave him the handgun instead. Thomas took Mr. Mason’s shotgun, which was now covered in his blood, and passed the handgun to Moseley.</p><p>“Where am I going?!” Andy howled over the wind, clambering over the driver’s bench to sit with Mason at his feet. Andy protected the man with his legs, keeping him from falling off.</p><p>“Downton!” Thomas yelled back, aiming the shot gun at a rider who was drawing close. “It’s the only place close enough! Get us off this road as quick as you can!”</p><p>“There!” Moseley shouted, pointing with his gun at the first rider. Both Moseley and Thomas shot at the same time, so that the man was blasted off his horse and crashed into the lane to be trampled by his fellows. Thomas ducked down, an arm grasping wildly over the driver’s bench to find Mason’s box of shells. He found them, yanked them over to his side, and hurriedly re-loaded the shot gun.</p><p> </p><p>“Only got five bullets!” Moseley yelled over the wind, checking his own chamber.</p><p>“Then make ‘em bloody well count!” Thomas yelled back.</p><p>He staggered back up to his feet, shot gun reloaded, and braced himself on his knees from the rattling wagonette floor. Another rider was coming up, and this one had a darker look about him like he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Thomas aimed and fired, only to miss. Moseley aimed as well, but his shot while hitting didn’t seem to deter the man. He jumped from horseback, leaping into the wagonette so that his steed kept running alongside!</p><p>The man reached from Baxter, yellow teeth locked in a grimace and dark eyes gleaming like a mad man. Baxter screamed-!</p><p>Knowing his shotgun would be good for nothing at point blank range, Thomas used the butt of his shotgun to instead slam the man in the face. The force of the act broke his nose, so that blood spurted down the man’s face with a yowl of pain. Moseley kicked out, knocking the man clean off the carriage so that he fell back into the road and was swallowed up immediately in the darkness.</p><p>Andy turned the carriage, taking them out of the wide country lane onto a narrow route which headed back in the direction of the abbey. The resulting chaos threw Thomas to the side, and he slammed against the wagonette only to almost fall out of the back. He had to hold on with one hand to the side, his other hand holding the shotgun-! He was dangling into the road now, heels dirtied with dust as he scrambled to try and get back on-board before he fell.</p><p>His savior came in the form of Baxter, who threw all caution to the wind to dangerously expose herself and grab Thomas bodily by the chest and shoulders. She dragged him back onto the wagonette, so that he could roll onto the floor, dazed and confused.</p><p>He saw a rider, nearly upon them! Moseley fired three and missed all the shots. Thomas aimed his own gun and fired, only to miss again!</p><p>The man pointed his gun directly at Thomas’ face, and fired.</p><p>He missed.</p><p>Now both of them were re-loading like mad, desperate to finish before the other!</p><p>The man, with a pistol, finished first, but even as he aimed his gun to kill Thomas. Moseley launched his own now useless handgun like one would a heavy rock. It worked, striking the man hard in the face so that he fell off his horse and into the weeds. Thomas could hear the man howling in rage, even as they made it into a farmer’s orchard. They were now between rows of apple trees, their withered claw like hands reaching up to the pale moon in the dark.</p><p>“Remind me to thank you for that-“ Thomas staggered up from the floor, now finished re-loading his shotgun.</p><p>“No problem,” Moseley was too winded and shocked to make much sense of his own words.</p><p>There were two riders left. Andy was steering them like mad, having to dodge around heavy tree roots and potholes from a farmer’s diligent plow. As a result, Thomas could not aim properly.</p><p>Mercifully, neither could either of the riders. One, so intent on the chase, tried to take them up on the left-hand side but ended up having to jump a fence. His steed, perhaps too inexperienced or old, was unable to jump in time and as a result ran headlong into the fence. With a massive clattered of wood, dirt, and dust, both rider and horse were thrown to the ground where they lay in a tangled pile. The horse’s pitiful shriek rent the night air like a knife.</p><p> </p><p>Now it was one rider, who had a rifle. He was riding firm and fast, and gaining on them steadily.</p><p>“Andy steer us straight!” Thomas shouted. “I can’t make the shot otherwise!”</p><p>“I can’t, it’s too full of holes, we’ll be torn apart-!” Andy glanced over at the lane where the rider was coming up alongside them. He, it seemed, was on smooth land.</p><p>But Andy was smiling.</p><p>“I have an idea! Hold on!” Andy steered them hard to the right, forcing both the rider and his beast to likewise turn lest they run headlong into one another. Now they were steering straight on relatively flat ground, and the rider was coming along in the next lane over. He was gaining, grinning maliciously as he pointed the rifle right at Andy’s head!</p><p>Thomas fired twice, knocking the man’s rifle off focus but not out of his hands. Thomas ducked, scrambling from bullets, only to find one cartridge left.</p><p>He loaded it, desperate.</p><p> </p><p>“One shot left!” Thomas warned the others.</p><p>“Then make it count!” Baxter shouted at the top of her voice, pressing Daisy into the wood of the wagonette to keep her safe. Thomas could see Daisy’s pale limbs clutching at the back of Baxter’s frayed coat, like a spider in the dark.</p><p>“What’s your sodding idea?!” Thomas demanded of Andy, aiming his shotgun at the rider who was likewise pulling his rifle back up.</p><p>“I know something he doesn’t know!” Andy declared.</p><p>“Such as?!”</p><p>“There’s a fox trap in the next lane!”</p><p>Thomas craned his neck over the side and saw the trap flash for just a second in the dark.</p><p>Determined to fell both beast and rider, Thomas aimed his gun not at the rider, but at the horse. He fired. The bullet spray knocked the beast hard and caused it to stagger right into the fox trap which closed onto its foot. The horse screamed, bucked, and kicked the rider off who wailed as he fell into a fence. The wooden structure collapsed under the unexpected weight, and the man did not stir.</p><p>They were safe, but only for the moment.</p><p>“Hurry Andy!” Moseley begged, “We’re in the clear but there will surely be more, and neither of us have bullets now!”</p><p>“We’re almost there!” Andy pointed with his hands full of the reigns to an opening in the path. It was taking them right past the gardens were Mrs. Patmore and Daisy sent the kitchen maids to collect vegetables.</p><p>They were back on the property!</p><p>As their team of terrified horses and passengers hit the smooth slide of the gravel drive, Thomas could have cheered in praise and thanks. Andy was now taking them straight up the path they’d once come from, and though they weren’t visibly being followed in the dark Thomas was too paranoid to take chances. He hauled himself over the edge of the driver’s bench, crouching at Andy’s side. Mr. Mason, between Andy’s feet, was deathly pale, his gaze fluttering.</p><p> </p><p>They careened into the area yard. Andy pulled up hard on the reigns, but it did little good. The stop was so sudden as so vicious that the horses whinnied and turned. As a result, the wagonette tipped onto its side and everyone fell out hard onto the pavement. Baxter grabbed Daisy as she fell, keeping her from hitting the stone, but it resulted in Mason falling atop Thomas covered in blood. Andy nearly stepped on Thomas’ face, but just managed to hang on and instead lob himself headfirst into the wood pile where the hall boy often chopped in the morning. Mr. Moseley, who had been holding to the side of the wagonette, ended up dangling in mid air like a marionette.</p><p>“Fucking hell-“ Thomas groaned aloud, rolling onto his side with Mason’s head in his hands. “Remind me to never let you drive again-“</p><p>“Sod that, we have to get inside!” Andy jerked out of the woodpile, staggering back over to the group.</p><p>Baxter and Daisy moaned upon the ground, both bruised from the fall. Mr. Moseley let go, collapsing onto the stone to help them both up. They were shaking, petrified from their near-death experience.</p><p> </p><p>The back door opened, to reveal the glimmering lights of the abbey and the silhouette of Albert the hall boy. He cried out, terrified at the sight of the toppled horses and wagonette.</p><p>“Mr. Carson!” He shrieked, running back down the hall. “Mr. Carson quick! There’s blood everywhere! The horses are on their sides!”</p><p>Which was an accurate sum of the details.</p><p>They didn’t have to groan in the cold for long. Mr. Carson, after a lifetime of holding the abbey’s head above scandal and chaos, could smell nonsense like a bloodhound. Not only did he come, but also Mrs. Hughes. The pair of them were in the door to the hall, gasping and crying out as they saw the chaos!</p><p>“Oh my god-!” Carson thundered, completely gob smacked by the display.</p><p>“Daisy!” Mrs. Hughes cried out, coming around the upturned wagonette. But when she saw Mr. Mason on the ground in Thomas’ arms, covered in blood and nearly dead, she screamed. Her shrill voice hit to high heaven, her hands flying to her mouth and her eyes wide.</p><p>She screamed again, pointing at Mr. Mason’s body. Mr. Carson ran around the side of the wagonette, only to skid to a halt lest he trample both Mason and Thomas.</p><p>“Mr. Carson, help us!” Daisy begged. “Help us, please!” Mrs. Hughes wrapped her up in her arms, allowing her to cry plaintively onto her shoulder.</p><p>“What in the hell has happened?!” Carson demanded of them.</p><p>“W-we were attacked on the road-!” The adrenaline was now wearing off, and Andy’s courage was stuttering. They were close to collapse, each of them wasted after spending all their energy to stay alive. Moseley looked like he was ready to vomit, and Thomas did not blame him. “It were a group of twenty men! Coyle- the criminal- he shot—he shot—” But Andy could say no more. The full weight of what had occurred was pressing down hard upon his young shoulders. He was a hair away from crying, despairing at the sight of his father-in-law dying upon the ground.</p><p>Thomas, having served as a war medic in far worse, felt drug back into the methodical routine of keeping the wounded alive. Mason had been shot at point blank range in the chest. The only thing which would save him was surgery. Dr. Clarkson needed to be called, and quick. An ambulance would have to be routed as fast as possible. They were losing time, and Mason was losing blood. Both could not be tolerated.</p><p>“Andy get his feet-“ Thomas ordered, his voice unnervingly loud. He’d cut over Carson, who was saying something or the other. “We’ll take an arm each-“ He grabbed Moseley by the tail of his jacket, pulling it hard to get his attention.</p><p>But it wasn’t Moseley to help. It was Carson.</p><p>Andy and Moseley were too shaken to help. Carson grabbed Mason’s feet. Thomas grabbed both his arms. Together, the pair hoisted him up, and mercifully the man was light enough to be carried without much of a fuss.</p><p>“What in the name of the father-?” Mrs. Hughes was gasping, close to an anxiety attack. “Has the world gone completely mad?!”</p><p>“Call Dr. Clarkson,” Thomas ordered. “Tell him we need an ambulance, as quick as you can!”</p><p>Mason was making tiny pathetic noises with each breath he took. It terrified Thomas more than the silence.</p><p>Unable to do much else but follow, Baxter grabbed one of Mason’s arms so that Thomas’ burden was halved. Now it was the three of them ushering the man back through the door.</p><p>“Andy, get that damned cart up!” Thomas shouted over his shoulder. The horses were hysterical, trying to pull themselves free from their poor position. “And get those horses seen to!”</p><p>“R-right-“It seemed that this was one job Andy could do. He began to cut the horses free, untangling them from their bridals and harnesses as Moseley took Daisy under his arm and Mrs. Hughes ran for the telephone.</p><p>“It’ll be alright, Daisy,” Thomas heard Moseley whisper as they crossed the threshold. “It’ll all be alright. Mr. Carson and Thomas will make it alright.”</p><p>Christ, he didn’t know how much of that was true, but he appreciated the confidence.</p><p> </p><p>As they headed down the hall, Thomas was grateful to find that no one else was up. It seemed that, after their departure, the others had headed to bed. The only person in the servant’s hall was Richard, who came running around the corner to go white at the sight of Mason bleeding out.</p><p>“Thomas-!” Richard grabbed one of Mason’s legs from Carson. Now the four of them could make much quicker time. They mounted the stairs with haste, dragging Mason to the top. “What the hell happened?!”</p><p>“Got attacked on the road,” Thomas explained, huffing and puffing as he climbed. “Coyle tried to kill Baxter. Mrs. Hughes is ringing the doctor. Barely got out of the shite alive.”</p><p>They made it to the top floor. Carson steered the group towards the right, where the men’s hall was waiting. “Second on the right!” Carson ordered. This room was normally taken up by guests and was devoid of activity. The bed was unmade, which served them well since Mason was bleeding all over the place. They deposited him on the bed, so that he let out a little sigh of relief. Thomas grabbed a pillowcase, which lay folded on the opposite bed, and ripped it right in half to fold it tight into a bundle. He pushed it hard to Mason’s bullet wound, trying to keep pressure so that he could not lose any more blood.</p><p>Baxter was stumbling away towards the door. He could hear her weeping.</p><p>“Keep pressure on that wound!” Thomas ordered Carson, grabbing him physically by the hands and pushing it upon Mason’s chest. “I’ll be right back!”</p><p>He ran out after Baxter, his hands red with blood.</p><p>In the hall, Baxter had crumpled near the far end. She was caught between crying and panicking, sucking in breath after breath without relief. Thomas took her by the shoulders, but she jerked him off hard, almost hitting him as she turned away.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t touch me!” She cried out, furious at being comforted. “I’ve killed a man! I’ve killed a man with my sins!”</p><p>Thomas just held on all the tighter to Baxter. She trembled with such a bone drenching quake that he thought she might faint. “You didn’t pull that trigger-“</p><p>“I as good as put that gun in Coyle’s hand-!”</p><p>“That’s a lie, an’ you know it!” Thomas shot down. “You can’t be held responsible for him!”</p><p>But at this, Baxter wrenched away from him to scream out with an anguished wail: “I am him!”</p><p>She collapsed to her knees, hitting the wooden floor hard.</p><p>Unsure of what to do to comfort her, Thomas followed her. He held her from behind, wrapping his arms about her chest.</p><p>“You aren’t him,” But she wasn’t listening to him, and even if she was she most certainly was not believing him. Baxter’s self-loathing was evident in every fiber or her being. He rocked her tenderly, allowing her to lay upon his chest with her head tucked underneath his chin.</p><p>“You are not him,” He murmured in her ear. “You are not him.”</p><p>He looked down the hall, and found Richard watching from the door to Mr. Mason’s impromptu room.</p><p>“You are not him,” He said again.</p><p>She wasn’t listening.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>warnings for this chapter include <b>cursing, shooting, graphic mentions of blood and violence</b>.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. The Swan Song of Albert Mason</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The losses of Peter Coyle's first attack on the abbey are revealed, with Downton on the losing side.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>the warnings for this chapter will reveal vital plot clues. Please skip to the end notes if you have any triggers that you need to check for.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It took a good hour for the inhabitants of Downton Abbey to calm down from the shock of their arrival. Thomas was pulled in a circle, from helping Andy to right the horses and the wagonette, to soothing Albert who was hysterical, to waking Lord Grantham who was wondering what the sodding hell was going to, to calling the police who came without haste or question. By the time he felt that he could sit, Thomas’ adrenaline had left him shaky and weak in a chair by the fire, nursing a strong cup of tea that had been laced with whiskey. He was not the only one to be drinking. Moseley was nursing another cup, and Albert had been sent to bed with a cup of his own. Mr. Bates, who had only just gotten back home when Anna called for him, was back at the abbey and keeping to his wife’s side.</p><p>Thomas didn’t even know why he’d returned; it seemed he acted in both Mr. Mason’s interest and for whatever reason Thomas’.</p><p>Thomas had no need for anyone, least of all Mr. Bates. He was not injured (besides some scrapes and bruises), and he was not hysterical (though he was deeply disturbed). Nevertheless, he did find great comfort in Richard, who sat resolutely by his side and did not move for God nor man. If Thomas’ wanted something, Richard got it for him. If he simply wanted to sit in silence, Richard made sure the others did not pester him. He wondered what an odd couple they must make to the rest of the staff. O’Brien was certainly eyeing them closely.</p><p>She sat detached from the rest of the group, watching them all with wary eyes. Where the rest of the women were either crying or soothing, O’Brien was devoid of emotion. In a way, she looked mildly annoyed, as if she was disappointed they hadn’t all died in the incident. Thomas wondered why she didn’t just go to bed and spare herself the migraine. Mr. Carson was another odd figure, and despite the extremely late hour (or very early hour depending upon how you looked at it), he did not go to sleep nor seem tired. He was in his element, protecting Downton from chaos by fetching Dr. Clarkson and ushering the police into the servant’s hall.</p><p> </p><p>As it stood, Dr. Clarkson was now upstairs, and had been for some time. It had been their original goal to move Mason via ambulance to the hospital, but Clarkson had revealed that Mason was too weak to risk such a ride. He therefore would perform surgery on the man from the comfort of his bed, and would keep him there until he felt that he could survive the ordeal. He promised nothing, and when asked what his professional opinion was, would only offer one line: “Miracles are not made by men.</p><p>Sergeant Willas came and offered protection in the form of a few other policemen who decided to stand guard at both the area door and the front door. Now, he was questioning Thomas, Andy, and Moseley, trying to figure out exactly what happened so that he might explain the situation in full to Lord Grantham and start the attempt to find the criminals.</p><p>The whiskey in Thomas’ tea was making his head feel muddled. He’d stopped drinking it and was resting his head in his hand, rubbing at his temple. Richard kept to his side, holding Thomas’ teacup in case he wanted it again.</p><p>“How many of them were there?” Sergeant Willas asked.</p><p>“…Fifteen,” Thomas mused, “Twenty, maybe.”</p><p>“I counted,” Moseley spoke up from the opposite end of the table. Baxter sat next to him, blood shot and miserable with swollen eyes. “There were seventeen. Twelve men, five women.”</p><p>Good to know Moseley could be counted on in a pinch.</p><p>Sergeant Willas kept writing, “And how many of them were armed?”</p><p>“Cor, nearly all of them,” Andy moaned, nursing his whiskey. “But only a few had guns I think.”</p><p>“I counted that too,” Moseley spoke up again. “Six guns, all of them pistols, but most were holding knives.”</p><p>“And you’re certain that Coyle was amongst them?” Sergeant Willas asked, staring at Thomas.</p><p>“Ms. Baxter identified him,” Thomas agreed. At the sound of her name, Baxter looked ready to cry again. Moseley put his arm around her, holding her close. He whispered something in her ear, and whatever it was, it soothed her.</p><p> </p><p>Across the table, O’Brien narrowed her eyes at the sight.</p><p> </p><p>“How many were wounded in the scrimmage, do you think?” Sergeant Willas asked.</p><p>“Around…” He looked from Thomas to Moseley to confirm. “Five? Six maybe? One of them has to be dead, Mr. Mason shot him in the face.”</p><p>“We found him,” Sergeant Willas assured him. “He was one of the breakouts from York County Prison. It corroborates well with what we already know. Coyle’s on the loose with a gang of murderers.”</p><p>“Check the orchard from Dwell Hill, next door,” Thomas advised. “Two men with horses were felled there, there might have been more deaths, or at least serious injuries. One crashed into a fence, one got trapped under his beast.”</p><p><br/>“We’re combing the ground right now,” Sergeant Willas agreed. “I’ll let you know what we find. I’ve posted a man outside the entrances for your protection, they’ll stay there till morning when they’ll be relieved. But I want to speak more to you, Ms. Baxter, if that’s alight-?” He looked her to.</p><p>Baxter was petrified. Trembling, she looked at Moseley who in turn looked at Thomas.</p><p>She needed his help; she was too weak to do this on her own.</p><p>“Fine, but I want to be present,” Thomas interjected. Sergeant Willas didn’t seem to be fussed either way. “As well as Mr. Moseley. He’s her fiancée, he deserves to be there.”</p><p>“Certainly,” They would find no complaints from the man. “Shall we?” He gestured to the three of them. Thomas rose up from his chair with an enormous sigh and gave Richard a tiny smile who returned it at once. He led the way to his office, with Baxter and Moseley bringing up a reluctant rear.</p><p>Once inside, Thomas shut the door again, gesturing to the guest chair should Willas want it. Instead, it was given to Baxter, who crumpled into it so that Moseley could stand behind her and hold her tenderly at the shoulders.</p><p>“Now that we’re alone, I think we can be franker,” Willas said. “Tell me what happened when you saw Coyle. What did he say, what did he do?”</p><p>Baxter did not speak, her head bowed in shame. Moseley was the one to talk in her stead.</p><p>“He said he wanted us out of the cart. When we refused, Thomas asked him specifically if he wanted Ms. Baxter, and another criminal confirmed it.”</p><p>“So just you,” Willas wrote the detail down on his pad. He didn’t sound happy. “He probably would have killed you if you’d gotten out of the wagon, the others I mean. As for you, Ms. Baxter… I’m unsure what he would have wanted to do.”</p><p>“Kill me,” She whispered, her voice tight. There were tears sparkling in her brown eyes. “To…to torture me. To… rape me. To make me wish I’d never been born. I know what he does with his victims. He plays with them like cats to mice.”</p><p>She looked ready to be sick. Thomas was nauseated as well.</p><p>“I’m afraid I have to agree,” Willas was bleak, “The real question, the one I’ve brought you in here for… is how did he know you’d be traveling tonight?”</p><p>The four of them looked at one another. It suddenly dawned upon Thomas that this was an exceptionally good question indeed.</p><p>How in the sodding hell had Coyle known they were going to be on that road, at that time? That Baxter was going to be with them? She’d only come at the very last second, and he couldn’t possibly have known what time they’d be passing because it would rely upon what the family had needed. Was it just merry coincidence? Or…</p><p>“Think about it,” Willas urged them, “A group of that many men, armed with horses and weapons? How on earth did they know what road you’d be on, and when? Well I’ll tell you; I’ve been in this business long enough to take an educated guess. I think they knew you were going to be on that road tonight… and I think they knew Ms. Baxter was going to be with you. And we need to find out how they found out. Or, who told them. Do you have any suspects?”</p><p>The only person that Thomas knew from that crowd was Christopher, and there was something peculiar about how he’d pushed himself to the front and whispered in Coyle’s ear… like maybe he hadn’t known all the details before the group had set out. No, Chris was innocent of this, if only this, and wasn’t a viable suspect.</p><p>“…None that would fit the bill,” Thomas admitted. Moseley shrugged, utterly bewildered.</p><p>“Ms. Baxter?” Willas asked. She shook her head, refusing to meet his eyes.</p><p>“Well,” Willas sighed, pocketing his notepad, and re-capping his pen so that it did not leak in his vest pocket. “We’ll have to play our cards very carefully from here on out. Someone is feeding information to Coyle, and until we know who that person is, Ms. Baxter is in terrible danger. But… it’s late. And you all need your sleep. My mother was a housemaid, I know how hard you work. I’ve men outside, they’ll protect you. No one’s getting in the abbey tonight. I’ll ring in the morning and see if we can’t make some headway then. Mr. Barrow, if you need me do not hesitate to call.”</p><p>“Alright,” Thomas agreed. Willas tipped his hat to them.</p><p>“Goodnight,” Willas bade them. No one replied back in kind. He left without another word and shut the door quietly behind him.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>After Willas left, Thomas, Baxter, and Moseley returned to the servant’s hall. O’Brien had gone to bed, leaving the others behind. No one else wanted to sleep, it seemed. A communal pot of coffee was on the table, and every so often someone would fill up their cup. Until Dr. Clarkson was finished with his surgery, it seemed no one would be able to sleep for worry.</p><p>Thomas kept thinking of Willas’ words, and how he was certain there was a rat in the pantry. The only person in the house who was nefarious enough to do such a thing was O’Brien, but they’d been in trouble long before she’d shown up, and while she was an absolute bitch to deal with, she wasn’t a murderess. Besides, he’d locked his office before he’d left with Mason on the wagonette, so how would O’Brien have been able to inform Coyle they were leaving?</p><p>No… No it wasn’t her. But he certainly was keeping his eyes open as to who else it could be. One of the day maids maybe?</p><p>But they’d all be gone by the time they decided to leave.</p><p>“… This is horrible,” Andy whispered. He was now nursing a pint of beer, having finished his whiskey.</p><p>“It’s a miracle everyone lived,” Bates corrected him.</p><p>“… We might not,” Thomas spoke up. Bates met his eyes, and Thomas silently lifted his head to the ceiling. The pair of them stared at the roof of the servant’s hall, wondering at what was going on so many floors above.</p><p>“Dr. Clarkson will take care of him,” Anna said. Amazing how her faith was unshakable even in such a wretched moment.</p><p>“…Anna…” Thomas shook his head, unmoved. “He got shot, in the chest. Point blank range. I’ve been in war; I was a medic. I know what that means.” Anna went gray, slightly sweating in the candlelight.</p><p>“I just can’t believe it,” Andy spoke up again, he sounded more like a child than a man. “I keep thinkin’ it’s a bad dream.”</p><p>At the far end of the table, Daisy was still crying softly into a handkerchief. Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Hughes tended to her, both of them petting her hair and clasping her hands.</p><p> </p><p>For a long moment there was silence, broken only by the sound of someone sipping coffee or the logs crackling on the fire. When it was interrupted again, it was by Moseley who spoke directly to Baxter despite the fact that all could hear.</p><p>“We knew this might happen,” He said. “But we’re safe in this house. I’ve told you that before, an’ I stick to it now.”</p><p>Baxter wiped her eyes, shaking her head pathetically. “We’re not,” She disagreed, close to blubbering. “No one’s safe anymore. He’s going to kill us all.”</p><p>Thomas reached out, and silently clasped her hand upon the table. He squeezed it hard, a quiet reminder of what he’d promised her, and how much he would sacrifice in the name of her life. When she finally squeezed back, it was a terribly weak thing.</p><p>“I don’t know this county very well,” Richard said to Thomas. “Is there a place a criminal could hide?”</p><p>“The woods,” Thomas let go of Baxter’s hand. “We have a lot of woods out here.”</p><p>“The dales?” Bates mused.</p><p>“Too open,” Thomas said. “You could watch your dog run away for three days out here. No, they’re hiding out in the woods, mark my words.”</p><p>“Well thank goodness we’re not surrounded by woods, that would be a tragedy,” Bates complained, for the entire estate was swamped by Crawley family hunting land that stretched on for miles.</p><p>“What if someone is hiding them in town?” Anna wondered.</p><p>“Ah…” Thomas waved it off. “Maybe but… too many people are watching, those faces were all over the paper. They’d be recognized at once. No, I think they’re hiding in the woods, where they can’t be found. Probably in an abandoned house somewhere… God only knows.”</p><p>“We’ve got plenty of them, after the evictions,” Bates said. Many tenant farmers had lost everything during the strikes last year.</p><p>Yet as Thomas started to do a tally in his head of all the empty houses he could think of, particularly ones close to the abbey, he was brought out of the reverie by Andy who addressed him directly with a peculiar look on his face.</p><p>“…Hey Thomas,” Andy spoke up. Thomas glanced at him, curious as to the usage of his Christian name. Maybe it was just the shock. “What about…. That man…”</p><p>“Coyle?” Thomas asked.</p><p>“No,” Andy shook his head, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “The other man. The man you talked to when we were held up. You spoke to a criminal directly, like you knew him somehow.”</p><p>And now, the suspicious eyes were turning to him. Thomas could see the others putting two and two together and getting twenty-two. He refused to be thrown under the cart for this! Not when he’d nearly gotten killed tonight!</p><p>But Richard was at his side and was watching Thomas’ facial expressions change from exhausted to angry. He leaned in, whispering in his ear.</p><p>“What is it?” He asked.</p><p>“… The man, I told you about,” Thomas whispered back. Richard leaned back, a sort of ‘Aha’ look on his face.</p><p>“Thomas?” Anna spoke up, confused.</p><p>“It’s complicated-“ He began, trying his best to diffuse the situation. It did not help.</p><p>“Is that thug your friend?” Andy demanded, “Are you the reason they knew we’d be there tonight?!”</p><p>“Hey-!” Richard’s tone was sharp and loud, shocking Andy into silence and submission. The others were taken aback, for none of them had ever heard Richard shout before. He looked furious and was glaring at the others as he took Thomas’ defense.</p><p>“Don’t even suggest something like that,” Richard warned, his tone icy. “Thomas an’ I are familiar with one of the men in the group. That’s all. Neither of us knew about this. If anyone’s shook up, it’s us.”</p><p>Baxter was watching the whole interaction with knowing; she, unlike the others was aware of Thomas’ connection to Christopher.</p><p>“… Then how do you know him?” Andy demanded. He looked ready to fight, furious at having his life and his wife’s life be put in jeopardy.</p><p>“It’s not important,” Richard wouldn’t even dwell on the idea. “He was an acquaintance years ago. We didn’t realize he was involved in something like this.”</p><p>“So…” Andy was slowly calming down. “He’s both your friends?”</p><p>“Something like that,” Richard said.</p><p>“But how?” Anna asked. “When you weren’t even here until October-“</p><p>“I grew up in York, I told you.”</p><p>“So… you and Thomas knew the same man? How?” Anna asked.</p><p>“I dunno,” Richard complained, getting slightly aggressive. “It happens. You know people who know people. It’s not what’s important right now!” Anna was slightly stung at his sharp tone.</p><p>“…So, he never told you?” Andy asked Thomas.</p><p> </p><p>He supposed he could lie and claim that Christopher had never told him anything about Coyle. But after years of lying, it was growing harder to do, and he just didn’t have the strength for it anymore. Richard opened his mouth, but Thomas gently cut him off with a hand. His story was getting more peculiar by the second and he didn’t want the tale to get any more convoluted if he could help it. It would just end up being more details that Thomas would have to remember.</p><p>“… He told me Coyle was his boss a few weeks ago,” Thomas admitted. “I was furious at him.”</p><p>“Why didn’t you report him to the police?” Anna demanded.</p><p>“Because…” Thomas knew it would make him look like a fool, “We were friends. And I … couldn’t.”</p><p>“You have to turn the man in!” Anna said, eyes wide and imploring.</p><p>“But that’s the point, Anna!” Thomas snapped. “He’s already turned in! He’s a criminal, they know he’s amongst the group. I didn’t know! It’s not the police who need to be aware, it’s me!”</p><p> </p><p>For a moment, silence fell again. Richard was glaring at Andy now, arms crossed over his chest. Andy took offense: “What?!”</p><p>“How damn quick were you to think he’d do something horrific like that-“</p><p>“Oh, it wasn’t like that!” Andy complained, jerking up from the table.</p><p>“Aye, but it was!” Richard stood up too. “You all were two seconds away from throwing him under the cart, some amount of faith you people have!”</p><p>“There’s things you don’t know-“ Anna tried to say, but Richard wouldn’t hear it out.</p><p>“Oh what?” He demanded with a sneer. Bates was starting to get hardened at his wife being ragged by a total stranger. “Did it ever occur to you lot that Thomas’ best friend is Baxter? That if anyone in this room besides Moseley wants her safe it’s him? Why in the hell would he put her in danger? Hmm?”</p><p>“No one’s saying it was on purpose,” Bates warned. “But he could have let something slip.”</p><p>“So why don’t you just ask him if he did, instead of accusing him?” Richard demanded. “Or does he not get to be treated with the same amount of respect and generosity that you all give the each other-“</p><p>“Richard.”</p><p>Thomas reached out and put a hand upon his arm. Richard was tense, a muscle jumping his jaw. Across the table, Andy looked ready to fight him.</p><p>“… It’s fine,” Thomas said. “Sit down.”</p><p>“It’s not fine,” But Richard sit down all the same. “They’re two seconds away from turning on you, for nothing.”</p><p>“You’re the one whose friends with the criminal,” Andy said. “How do we know it wasn’t you?!” And he pointed a finger at Richard vindictively. Richard jerked back up again, fire in his eyes, and now arguments were breaking out all around the table.</p><p>“Andy, enough!” Mrs. Hughes complained. “Stop making trouble!”</p><p>“Sit down,” Thomas spoke in Richard’s ear. “Let it go, he’s just upset-“</p><p>“He’s still wet behind the ears and trying to work me up!” Richard growled.</p><p>“Exactly, he’s a child,” Thomas pushed Richard physically into his seat. “And you’re better than to allow a child to bait you to a fight, so sit there and take it like an adult.”</p><p>Fuming, Richard stayed in his seat. Across the table, Andy was turning red.</p><p>“I am not a child-!”</p><p>“Enough!” Thomas roared, spit flying from his mouth. “Sit down!”</p><p>Andy did not sit, pink in the face. “You can’t tell me what to do-“</p><p>Furious, Thomas came around the table, and without another word took Andy hard by the back of the neck to all but shove him down into his chair. He winced aloud from the pain of the act, but sure enough he sat down just as Thomas had bade. A finger in the lads’ face, Thomas set him straight.</p><p>“I am the butler of this house, and I don’t care how chummy you think we are,” He ground out each word with venom. “When I give you an order, you follow it. When I tell you to sit, you sit. You may not be a child to some, but you are younger than me by far, and you will respect me, or you will leave this house!”</p><p>Andy looked ready to cry, humiliated in front of everyone he called a friend.</p><p>“… Why are you like this?” Andy asked, wounded. “Why can’t you-“</p><p>“Why can’t I what?” Thomas demanded. “Go easy on you? Treat you like a friend when you act out of line and accuse someone of inciting murder? Because I’m your employer, Andrew. I hold you to a higher standard than what you’re showing me tonight. If you slip, I’ll force you back in line. That’s the way I was taught, and it’s the way I’m teaching you. Now stay in your seat, and do not get out of it again.”</p><p> </p><p>He slowly let go, standing back up to return to his own seat which he took irritably. The others looked either shunned or shamed, with even Bates seeming reproachful.</p><p>“Well…” Mrs. Hughes sighed, petting Daisy’s hand. “Who’d have known you’d take to Mr. Carson’s role so well?”</p><p>“Mr. Carson,” Thomas said. “That’s why he gave it to me.”</p><p>“I can’t disagree,” Mrs. Patmore whispered. “… For what’s it worth, Thomas, I’m glad you’re in charge tonight. We need you.”</p><p> </p><p>That was not a wholly comforting thought. Next to him, Richard was still seething.</p><p>He looked from Richard, who was angry, to Andy who was miserable. He knew what had to be done.</p><p>“Richard, please apologize to Andy,” Thomas ordered. Richard did a double take.</p><p>“But-“</p><p>Thomas gave him a stern look. Now it was a war of internal wills, with their dialogue un-rent upon the air.</p><p>
  <em>You expect me to apologize for defending you? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yes. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I won’t! </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yes, you will. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I won’t. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yes, you will, Richard. </em>
</p><p>He pursed his lips, rolling his eyes with a tut.</p><p>“Fine,” He whispered.</p><p>“Look… I’m…” He gestured for a moment, coming up short. “I’m sorry I got hot under the collar for a moment, I… Thomas is a close friend of mine.”</p><p>“I can tell,” Andy griped from his seat, not meeting Richard’s eyes.</p><p>“We’re all stressed,” Thomas advised. “We’re tired, we’re scared, we’re jumping down each other’s throats every two seconds. I’d tell you all to go to bed, but I know you can’t. I can’t either. Not till I know. But maybe we can close our eyes and just… rest.”</p><p>“I agree,” Mrs. Hughes said, weakly. “Let’s just sit in quiet, and breath.”</p><p>Thomas let out an enormous sigh, eyes closed. He folded his arms over his chest and waited, enjoying the meagre warmth from the fire.</p><p> </p><p>For twenty full minutes, no one spoke or moved. The only sound that could be heard was the delicate ticking of the clock on the mantle, warning them at it was 3:19 in the morning. Every so often, a log would crackle on the hearth and drop into ash below the grate. Besides that, it was completely still, and Thomas was grateful for.</p><p>Under the table, where none could see, Richard slowly reached out to grasp Thomas’ hand and pull it onto his own thigh. Thomas laced his fingers in the mans’ own, grateful for the contact.</p><p>It was almost as if they were sleeping side by side.</p><p> </p><p>The quiet allowed for footsteps to be heard with ease. At the sound of someone descending the stairs, everyone looked up to find Dr. Clarkson and Carson walking side by side. Clarkson did not look happy.</p><p>Daisy stood up, and everyone else followed suit. As Clarkson entered the servant’s hall, he addressed them as a full body.</p><p>“I’ve done what I can,” Dr. Clarkson said. “But… in all likelihood, it won’t be enough. If he makes it through tonight, he’ll live. If not, well…” He drifted off, catching Thomas’ eyes. “Thomas, he wants to speak to you.”</p><p>“Now?” Thomas asked, quite surprised at the request. Mason had only just gotten out of invasive surgery for god’s sake. “But… surely he needs to rest.”</p><p>“Thomas,” Dr. Clarkson shook his head. “He wants to speak to you right now. He doesn’t have the time for you to prepare yourself.”</p><p>Thomas turned around and caught Richard’s eyes. For a moment, the pair of them shared a silent conversation:</p><p>
  <em>What could it be? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I don’t know. Stay here. </em>
</p><p>He turned to head up the stairs, passing by Daisy who reached out as he passed. He glanced at her.</p><p>“Why you?” She whispered, her throat swollen from crying for hours.</p><p>“… I don’t know,” Thomas admitted.</p><p>Thomas headed for the stairs only to pause and re-assess himself. He was nervous, his heart beating rather fast between his ribs.</p><p>Why?</p><p>Perhaps he knew that Mason wanted to finish their conversation from before, and after all that had occurred tonight, Tomas didn’t know if he had the strength to endure the rest.</p><p> </p><p>Unfortunately, the situation had spun out of his control. If Mr. Mason wanted to have a conversation with him, then that’s what he’d get.</p><p> </p><p>Thomas mounted the stairs, unwilling to go at a languid pace lest it raise suspicions from an already exhausted staff. He kept a clipped gate, rounding each set of stairs to make it to the top which lay in an unnerving quiet. He retraced is steps to Mr. Mason’s impromptu bedroom, straightened is tie, and carefully pushed the door open.</p><p> </p><p>In the cradle of moonlight softly cascading through the roof window, Mason looked a bit like a child. He was curled, on his side, his bloodied chest hidden beneath heavy layers of ruined bandages and seemed so much smaller than he actually was. As if compelled by the inevitable end, his body was running in reverse, trying to relive its youth as much as it could.</p><p>Thomas closed the door. The soft snap of metal clicking in the latch was unnervingly loud in the room. Mason did not stir.</p><p> </p><p>One step forward, and then another, till Thomas was by Mason’s side. Now, his own silhouette cut a hard edge through the moonlight, casting a shadow over Mason’s face. The bedside lamp gave poor light and made each wrinkle on Mason’s face seem all the more deeply lined. He was in pain, each breath shaking as it exhaled.</p><p>Mason opened his watering eyes. He saw Thomas above him and opened his mouth a bit as if to speak. No words came out, however. He was too weak for intense conversation.</p><p>“Whatever you’re about to say, don’t,” Thomas begged. “I beg of you don’t… I don’t think I can take it.”</p><p>Mason gestured with a tiny twitch of the finger, urging Thomas to sit in the visitor’s chair that Dr. Clarkson must have recently occupied. It was pulled right up alongside Mason’s bed.</p><p>Knowing he had no choice, but terrified of what Mason might say, Thomas slowly sat down. He perched himself right on the very edge, too tense to fully relax. He both wanted to help Mason and to run away from him. He both pitied and feared him.</p><p>Mason took a great shuddering breath. With weak, pale hands, he reached out to grasp Thomas’ own atop his thigh.</p><p>“Thomas… look at me,” Mason bade. Unable to deny the man a thing in his fragile state, Thomas bitterly met his eyes. He’d expected to find pity there, or maybe disappointment. Instead, he found a genuine smile, as if nothing could have pleased Mason more than to see Thomas here and now.</p><p> </p><p>Perhaps he’d been worried Thomas wouldn’t come up at his request.</p><p> </p><p>“Son…” The word was delicate and sweet upon his lips. “What… did your father… say?”</p><p>Christ, it was the very last thing Mason had said to him right before Coyle had showed up!</p><p>Grief stricken, Thomas raised his chin to the ceiling, eyes pinched shut. “For god’s sake man!” He begged him, “Let it go!” He looked back down at Mason, shaking his head rapidly. “I’m not your son, I’m not even your friend! It doesn’t matter, please-“</p><p>“It does matter,” Mason disagreed. Thomas’ heart ached in his chest, as if he’d been the one to get shot.</p><p>“Let me go get Daisy,” Thomas croaked. Mason gripped him harder by the hand; maybe he thought Thomas was going to pull away. “Or Andy- someone who loves you. Someone who’s your family. You’re sick, you’re hurt… this isn’t the time-“</p><p>“It is,” Mason disagreed. “Because there isn’t… any other time… now is there.”</p><p> </p><p>Thomas would like to believe Mason was going to get out of this bed and go on with his life… but reality was knocking, and death waited for no man. He knew, perhaps just as Mason knew, that he wasn’t going to last long. That the time had come to say whatever it was that Mason had to say.</p><p>“Now tell me,” Mason whispered, “Tell me what he said, that hurt you so badly.”</p><p>He couldn’t understand this. He couldn’t believe this. This man… this man who had had such a wonderful son—</p><p>“… I bullied your son,” Thomas whispered.</p><p>But Mason knew the truth. Maybe he’d known it all along. “You wanted to be… my son.”</p><p>Thomas closed his eyes, his bottom lip quivering. And damn him if it wasn’t the terrible truth.</p><p>“…Now tell me what he said, Tommy,” Mason said. “Tell me what happened. So, I can make it right…”</p><p> </p><p>That memory lay locked inside of Thomas’ soul, wrapped tight in iron bands of hatred and agony. Dwelling on it only brought back the awfulness. The feelings of helplessness. The desperate desire to weep, to be heard in a world that was drowning him out. Even now, thirty years on, he could still hear and see just as he’d heard and seen on that dreadful day. If requested, he could probably draw the street from memory onto pen and paper. A thousand years from now when they pried off his coffin lid and found him rotting away, that scene would be etched into his very bones.</p><p> </p><p>It would never leave him.</p><p> </p><p>“… I got scared in church, because I heard awful things would happen to men like me,” Thomas had only been thirteen. So young, and so goddamn hopeful for the future. He’d known then; he’d known since he was about ten. He’d heard the words ‘hell fire’ and had watched a candle flickering upon its stem. He’d wondered what it would feel like to burn like that candle. To know he could never be put out. The idea had petrified him.</p><p>“…So…” Thomas’ lips were numb from the stress of reliving the trauma. His eyes were moist, on the brink of shedding tears. Still Mason did not waver. In a way, it felt like Thomas was confessing to a priest.</p><p>In a way, he was.</p><p>“So I … I told him in private when we got home. I told him what I was. I…”</p><p>He twitched; eyes flickering closed at the memory of his father launching a vase at his head.</p><p>How it had shattered against the wall right by his face, peppering him with sharp glass. He could practically hear the sound of the pottery smashing, ringing in his ears.</p><p>Mason squeezed his hand, a silent bid to continue.</p><p>“I begged him,” And he had. “He was outraged. I tried to make him remember that I was still his son… I…” And the true pain was out now, evident in Thomas’ voice and his expression. “I begged him. I <em>begged him.” </em></p><p>On his knees, protesting with clasped hands, as if he was before a pulpit. <em>“I’m your Thomas!” </em>he’d sobbed. <em>“Don’t you know your Thomas?!” </em></p><p>“… On my knees… to love me.” He shook his head, the motion causing tears to fall upon his flushed cheeks. His throat ached from the act of subconsciously clenching. “T’forgive me.”</p><p> </p><p>But Nathaniel Barrow had not forgiven his eldest son. Instead, he’d grabbed Thomas by the scalp, dragging him through the Barrow home to the front door. His heels had scraped upon the wood. He’d tried to grab the umbrella stand on the way out, and had accidentally knocked it over on its side, spilling their brollies down the steps into the streets.</p><p> </p><p>“He dragged me into the street,” Thomas whispered, eyes still closed. He did not want to see Mason when he admitted the truth. He did not want to see anyone. “And beat me in front of the neighborhood. Told them all what I was.”</p><p> </p><p>He could see the gawking faces now, horrified women and outraged men.</p><p>
  <em>“Barrow, what are you doing?!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“For god’s sake man, stop!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“He’s a sodomite! A filthy lavender whore! He wants t’get buggered, and you tell me to stop?! How can I stop?!” </em>
</p><p>“No one stopped him,” Thomas whispered. “They agreed with him. I tried to beg for help…. No one helped.”</p><p> </p><p><em>“Please, help me-!” </em>screaming, shrieking at the top of his lungs, his back bloodied from the blows of the strap and the heel of his father’s shoes. <em>“Somebody help me!!” </em></p><p> </p><p>“I was less than human. Less than dirt,” Thomas shuddered, his exhalation wetting his lips. “An’… I’ve stayed that way ever since.”</p><p>He opened his eyes.</p><p>Mason was watching him, still without pity. There was something dark, something clear and obvious…. Like he was almost angry, but not at Thomas. Perhaps, his was angry for Thomas… which no one had ever been.</p><p>“… What did he say?” Mason whispered. “Tell me the words.”</p><p>So, Thomas recounted the bitter, awful truth. The truth he’d carried inside of him for thirty painful years:</p><p>
  <em>“I hate you! Goddamn you, you filthy whore! If I were a stronger man, I’d kill you myself! You fucking faggot! You lavender sodomite! Burn! Burn!!” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Mason squeezed his hand. His fingers were unnervingly cold.</p><p>There were many things he could say at a moment like this, Thomas supposed. But Mason didn’t have time for long winded speeches. Instead, he simply whispered, “… Let it go.”</p><p>Thomas swallowed around a painful knot in his throat. “I can’t,” He whispered, practically choking on the word.</p><p>“As a… father…” Mason said, “Let it… go.” And, with great strength, Mason reached out with his other hand to slowly touch Thomas’ own heart with his trembling fingers. As if he was trying to push into Thomas the courage that he needed, to find peace.</p><p>Thomas’ bottom lip quivered dangerously, cheeks moist and eyes stinging. “I don’t know how to,” he confessed. Oh, how pathetic and small he felt in that moment…</p><p>“Be who you are,” Mason’s hand went limp, so that he now held Thomas’ own with both. He squeezed his hand tight. “Unashamed. Be brave, be proud, son.”</p><p>“But…” And here Thomas was, a thirteen-year-old again, so terrified of a flaming candle he’d seen at church. Like a child, he whispered his confession to a father that finally understood. “But what if he’s right? What if that’s all I man, an’ I die… an’ I burn for all eternity-“</p><p>Mason shushed him, refusing to even pander to the notion. “No,” Mason assured him. “God is love. Y’can’t go… to hell… for love.”</p><p>“How do you know?” Thomas wished he had the man’s confidence.</p><p>“…Because I’m dying,” Mason said. And it sickened Thomas to know that he was right. He watched as Mason drew shuddering breath after breath. “Listen to me, Thomas… he did not walk away… that day… unscathed. Because I tell you this… there is no worse pain… on this earth… than losing your child. He may not… have felt it… for years. But he felt it. An’ it probably broke him.”</p><p>Thomas listened with rapt attention. He did not know what to say.</p><p>“Carson…” Mason swallowed, coughing a tiny bit. Was it Thomas’ imagination or did he look more pale? “Carson is like me… an’ the Dowager… an’ Lord Grantham. We’re all… from a different time. An’ it’s over. An’ he’s so sad, an’ scared of losing that. Of losing his… youth. His…” Mason had to take another breath. “Ability to know the world, an’ his place… in it. That’s all your seeing an’ hearing… Thomas. It’s just fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of change-“</p><p>“of me,” Thomas whispered.</p><p>“No,” Mason squeezed his hand. He even smiled, though Thomas couldn’t imagine what the hell there was to smile about. “No, he’s not afraid of you son. He loves you….”</p><p>But Thomas didn’t know how to believe such a thing, when it would have meant everything to him. He wanted it to be true, he longed for it to be true… but he had a nasty feeling it wasn’t. After a lifetime of being hated by the men who ought to have loved him, Thomas didn’t know how to trust anymore.</p><p>“How do you know?” He asked.</p><p>“Because… he’s your father,” Mason smiled. His lips were blue. “An’ father’s… always love their children. You are loved. It’s time you knew how much.”</p><p> </p><p>For a moment they simply stared at one another. Tears fell freely now down Thomas’ cheeks as he clutched Mr. Mason’s hand to his chest. He swallowed around that terrible knot in his throat, hating himself for all the things he could not change in the past. All the cruel things he’d said and done to the man-</p><p>“I’m so sorry,” Thomas might have been sitting in a chair, but he was proverbially on his knees before the man. “I am so sorry for what I said an’ did to William. I was young an’ stupid. An’ cruel. I don’t know why I said the things that I did-“</p><p>“Because… he was normal,” Mason was unbothered by it. “Because… he was mine. You wanted to be able to love Daisy… but you couldn’t… an’ it hurt.”</p><p>He no longer had the strength to squeeze Thomas’ hand very much, but Thomas felt a flutter run through the tips of his fingers. So Thomas squeezed, this time. Mason’s lips twitched in a tiny bit of a smile.</p><p>“… It’s just a shadow, Thomas,” He whispered, his voice growing faint. “They’re scared of your shadow. They’re so busy looking at the ground… they never even see your face. You’re everything they can’t understand. That’s why they’re scared of you. You’re not evil. Okay?”</p><p>Slowly, Thomas nodded.</p><p>“Okay,” He whispered back. And maybe he didn’t fully believe it right now, but perhaps one day he would. Maybe, in that moment, Mr. Mason had sown the seed of kindness which would one day flower into confidence.</p><p>His mission finally complete, Mason looked incredibly at peace.</p><p>His eyes closed; he gave a shaky breath. “… Will you… brin…g…” Mason fell quiet, his breath slowly puttering out.</p><p>He fell still.</p><p> </p><p>For a moment, Thomas sat there holding Mr. Mason’s hand, waiting to hear what he would say next. What great wisdom he would impart. What he would request of Thomas. But Mr. Mason never completed his sentence, his body and soul so at peace that they merged and fell quiet altogether. Like a candle being snuffed, there was no horrific scene of gasping and spluttering.</p><p> </p><p>A life rent spent no energy on the air.</p><p>“… Bring what?” Thomas whispered. Perhaps he was hoping that Mr. Mason’s desire for something would give him life once more. But Mr. Mason did not answer.</p><p>He’d done his job and had given Thomas the answer he’d needed since he was thirteen years old.</p><p>“… What?” He said even louder. He squeezed Mr. Mason’s hand as hard as he could.</p><p>He did not squeeze back.</p><p> </p><p>With a shaking hand, Thomas reached out and carefully felt underneath Mr. Mason’s nose. His heart cracked, with the realization that no breath could be felt. He tried to find Mr. Mason’s pulse underneath his chin, but none came.</p><p> </p><p>This man was not his father. He’d not even been Thomas’ friend in life. But the kindness that he’d shown Thomas in his last moments was something that Thomas had never experienced before. It had been precisely what he’d needed to hear so many years ago, and he could only wonder what might have happened to him if he had. What would his life have ended up being like if he’d had Mr. Mason for a father? Would he have been like William?</p><p>Would he have been normal?</p><p> </p><p>Miserable and knowing with terrible certainty all that must come now, Thomas slowly placed Mr. Mason’s hands upon his chest in an act of charity that mirrored Mr. Mason’s own. He smoothed his bed clothes, pushed his hair out of his face, and made sure that when Daisy and Andy came in they would see a man who was at peace with dying. A man who was ready to go.</p><p>“… Thank you,” Thomas whispered. He did not know if Mason heard him. It did not make the thanks any less necessary either way.</p><p> </p><p>He rose from the chair, pushed it back a bit, and headed for the door. As he descended the stairs, he could not help but feel as if he were the one who had been shot. His chest and heart ached something fierce, and he could not disguise his expression to look any less somber or remorseful.</p><p>He reached the bottom and found the servant’s hall just as packed as before. In the chair by the fire, Daisy was still tending to a sodden handkerchief while Mrs. Patmore idly brushed her hair and Mrs. Hughes held her hand. Andy was nursing a pint and looked ready to pass out from the night’s turmoil.</p><p> </p><p>It would only get worse for him.</p><p> </p><p>Daisy looked up and saw Thomas in the doorway.</p><p>“Thomas,” Her voice was thick, like she was suffering from a head cold. She rose from the chair, having to disentangle herself from the others, and stood before him twisting her handkerchief between pale and slender fingers. “How is he?”</p><p>Thomas bowed his head, shamed for what he had to say. “ I’m so sorry, Daisy,” He whispered.</p><p>“Why?” She asked.</p><p>He looked up and found her in that moment to be like a child. So innocent and unsure. This was twice now that Thomas had to inform someone of their parent’s demise. He hoped he would not have to do it again, for it was a wretched thing.</p><p>“… Because he’s gone home,” he said.</p><p>“Home?” Daisy did not understand.</p><p> </p><p>Thomas slowly shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>And then, the weight of Thomas’ words, and all that it meant, crumpled down upon her slim shoulders with the weight of ten concrete slabs. She broke, unable to hold in her wailing, and fell to the floor upon her knees so that she collapsed at Thomas’ feet almost upon his shoes.</p><p>Several people rushed to her side, each of them aching to console her. Mrs. Patmore found her first, sweeping her into her arms like she was her own daughter. Andy found her next, hiding her face from the world so that the others could not see her grief. Her sobs were so terrible, so loud, that Thomas thought he might weep with her. He respectfully pulled himself back, refusing to meet the other’s gaze lest they see how rattled he was.</p><p> </p><p>In the corner of the room stood Mr. Carson, aghast at the news of Mason’s death. Mrs. Hughes was holding his hand, anchoring herself to the world with his grasp.</p><p>Thomas left the servants hall and headed down the hall to his office so that he might seclude himself. He needed to recompose himself, to regain his strength so that he could face the world tomorrow. Mason’s words were bouncing around in his head, the weight of all that they meant making each step feel like a stagger until he collapsed into his desk chair just as Daisy had done upon the floor.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Be who you are, unashamed. Be proud, son.” </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>A gentle knock at the door beckoned the arrival of the only person that Thomas could stand to endure. Richard Ellis carefully let himself in, not making too much noise as he crossed the floor. Pulling up Thomas’ guest chair, he dragged it around till he could sit side by side with Thomas and did so at once.</p><p>He rested his hands upon Thomas’ shoulder blades, stroking them carefully. It took Thomas a moment to realize that Richard was actually massaging him, caring for him as tenderly as a lover would. Then, it took Thomas a moment more to remember that Richard was on the cusp of being his lover. That they were more or less romantically involved with one another.</p><p> </p><p>It had been so many years since Thomas had been cared for, he did not know how to recognize it when it occurred, and that terrified him.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you alright?” Richard murmured in his ear.</p><p> </p><p>He supposed he could lie and protect himself mentally by keeping Richard at arm’s length. But he didn’t have the mental strength to put up a front anymore, and more than protection in that moment he needed coddling. He needed someone to hold him and comfort him just as Daisy was being comforted.</p><p> </p><p>“He told me to let it go,” He croaked. He tilted his head to meet Richard’s eyes. He found Richard to be quite worried, his brow crinkled, and his beautiful lips set into a gentle frown.</p><p>“Said… he could see it in my eyes,” Thomas said. “That I needed Carson. That my father had hurt me. He knew….” And how could he not, when he’d been a father too. “He asked me what my father said, and I told him. And he told me to let it go.”</p><p> </p><p>Richard seemed to realize what an impact those words had made upon him. He rubbed Thomas’ back with one hand, allowing his other to slip down so that he might squeeze Thomas’ forearm in a protective grip.</p><p> </p><p>“He’s the first person in my whole life who I’ve told,” Thomas admitted. “An’ he gave up his last moment on earth to comfort me. Me.” He scoffed, shaking his head, “When I bullied his son so many years ago while he worked here. When I were a berk to him for all the time that I knew him. He gave up his last chance to tell Daisy goodbye… all to tell me something I needed to hear.”</p><p> </p><p>And it was a remarkable feat, one that Thomas felt could never be topped in the conquest of human history. “That’s just the sort of person Albert Mason was.”</p><p> </p><p>There wasn’t much Richard could rightly say. He hadn’t known the man more than a night, but the knowledge of what he’d done for Thomas seemed to move Richard deeply. He pulled Thomas a little too him, so that the tiny wheels of Thomas’ swivel chair squeaked upon the tile floor as they grew closer.</p><p>“… He was a good man,” Richard mused.</p><p>It was a criminal understatement, but it was all they could be garnered. Wishing to god that it had been him to die instead, Thomas replied, “Yes, he was.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It was close to dawn when the undertakers arrived. Charles Carson let them in, the house having fallen into somber mourning. The attic was rent with the soft sounds of muffled crying from the women’s side; the men’s side was muffled and thick with the aura of death. Charles had sent the others to bed, though no one would get any sleep. Even Thomas was unusually shaken up, and despite Charles’ request for rest, had refused to budge from his office where he instead gave the excuse of doing paperwork.</p><p>No one willingly did paperwork at four in the morning, not even the butler. Thomas couldn’t sleep, and Charles had to wonder why.</p><p>He watched, silently, as the Grisbey boys carefully laid Albert Mason upon a board draped in white cloth. They covered him with linen, and Dr. Clarkson signed the paperwork to allow him to be processed. Together, Charles and Clarkson trailed behind the undertakers, neither one of them speaking till they reached the bottom.</p><p>Clarkson was worn plum out, with deep bags beneath his eyes. The pair of them watched Mason be taken away, bitter at the departure of their friend.</p><p>“May I stay the night, Mr. Carson?” Dr. Clarkson’s voice was gravely from lack of sleep. “I don’t feel comfortable going home with the murderers on the loose.”</p><p>“Certainly, Dr. Clarkson. I’ll prepare a room for you myself-“</p><p>“No need,” The man waved him down. “If there’s a spare on the men’s side of the attic, I’ll take it. Needs must and you ought to be asleep too.”</p><p>The pair of them began to walk back upstairs. At each level, Charles turned off the lights so that they were plunged into darkness every so often. Now, the only light on was Barrow in his old office.</p><p>And that got Charles thinking.</p><p>“… Dr. Clarkson,” Charles leaned in so that they might speak softly. “Why did Mr. Mason want to speak to Mr. Barrow tonight? Why not Daisy or even Andrew? A member of his family.”</p><p>“He said he needed to talk to him,” Dr. Clarkson didn’t sound comfortable though. Indeed, Charles could tell that something was pressing upon the man’s mind. Perhaps he knew more about Mason’s final request than he ought to.</p><p>At the top of the stairs, Charles showed Dr. Clarkson to the room that had once belonged to Alfred Nugent. Dr. Clarkson took it but paused at the threshold.</p><p>“I shouldn’t say this,” Dr. Clarkson said, “As a doctor I hear things a lot when people pass. Things I don’t repeat. But… I think you ought to know that Mr. Mason was adamant he speak to Barrow lest he die before the morning. I think he knew that his time was growing thin, and he said it was of vital importance Barrow hear what he had to say.”</p><p>“Do you know what it was about?” Charles wondered. What strange times indeed!</p><p>“I do,” Clarkson paused. “It was you.”</p><p>Charles blanched, taken aback.</p><p>Him? Why had he been a topic of conversation between Mason and Thomas? Why had it been of vital importance, so important indeed that the man hadn’t been able to say goodbye to his own family? There was no business between the three of them. They were each revolving in their own little spheres. Did Mason feel otherwise? And if so, why hadn’t he asked to speak to Charles.</p><p>“Why me?” Charles asked.</p><p>“I’m afraid you’ll need to ask Thomas,” Dr. Clarkson still looked heavily uncomfortable. “He was the one that needed to hear it, so he’s the only one that knows now. Goodnight.”</p><p>Dr. Clarkson shut the door, leaving Charles staring at the wood.</p><p> </p><p>It a bizarre turn of events, Thomas was now sleeping in his old room, so he would have to sleep in Thomas’. He entered, feeling out of place as he shut the door, and looked from the faded red curtains to the lone iron bed in the far corner. For so many years, this one room had been the penultimate territory of the one staff member Charles had found untouchable. At times, it had been comparable to him with the depths of hell where Satan lurked. Thomas, like the prodigal son, knew how to get so deep under Charles’ skin it was like he was a parasite. He had a feeling, though, that the sensation was mutual. The pair of them had danced around one another for so long, if felt impossible for them to detach themselves from the battle they’d started waging in 1910 when Thomas had first arrived. He supposed, to outsiders like Dr. Clarkson it must look utterly daft. Even to him, he felt pathetic at times.</p><p> </p><p>And maybe if he was fully, and awfully honest with himself, he knew there was something more.</p><p>Something that eventually, would have to come to a head.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>trigger warnings for this chapter include <b>Minor Character Death</b>.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Three Shillings Worth of Trouble</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Albert Mason is laid to rest. Richard and Thomas swap trinkets of love. Christopher Webster sheds light on a horrible truth, only to be distracted by just how much he despises Richard. Thomas squares off with Coyle's Agent.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>no warnings in this chapter besides homophobic language from O'Brien.  Also mild sexual content.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had been an ugly thing, to watch the house in morning.</p><p>As an outsider, Richard was still kept on the fringes of the grief, like the others thought they were somehow annoying him by being emotional. But if you knew where to look, it was obvious that they were broken hearted. Mrs. Patmore had lost her ability to have a barbed tongue and took orders without cheek. Andy would sometimes sit in silence, simply staring at the wall till someone reminded him that he had a job to do. Worst of all was Daisy, who broke down at odd times of the day to simply weep until she vomited from the strain. She was often sent home early but was terrified to go by wagonette without the aid of a police officer. They were all scared stiff now, but the one that Richard worried the most about was Thomas.</p><p> </p><p>He had a way of grieving that was all his own, and maybe it wasn’t even grief altogether. It was something closer to guilt, with layers of contemplation piled atop it. You’d notice him sitting in his favorite rocker by the fire, letting his cigarette burn out unsmoked. Then he’d ask for a cup of tea only to forget to drink it. Mason’s final words of advice were hanging heavily upon Thomas’ slender shoulders and pushing him down to the earth so that the pair of them might continue their final chat from Mason’s coffin. Despite the fact that he’d been the last one to talk to Mason, it was clear to Richard that Thomas still had had more to ask and say. That the knowledge he’d never get to do so was beating him black and blue.</p><p>He needed perking up, so that was precisely what Richard intended to do.</p><p>The day before Albert Mason’s funeral, Richard took a trip down to the village under the guise of picking up a few new pieces for Lord Grantham’s wardrobe. Instead, his sole errand was to visit The Spinster, a shop that catered to sewing needs. It had been well recommended to him by the different women of the house, so Richard felt comfortable in dropping by unannounced. Plenty of village women came here for there bits and bids, but the real money for this shop came from the ‘big house’. He supposed, as the new valet, a bit of an introduction was necessary to the shopkeeper who would no doubt be curious about him.</p><p>The shop was on the fringes of the village square, next to a pie shop that had sumptuous smells wafting from its bakery. Denying himself the luxury of a crème scone, Richard entered the Spinster to find an elderly woman bent over the front counter to examine a village paper. Sure enough, the murder of Albert Mason was plastered nastily over the front page, with a touching photo of the man in his younger years.</p><p>“May I help you?” The shopkeeper asked.</p><p>“I’m Richard Ellis,” He took off his hat, holding it to his chest in a sign of courtesy. “I’m Lord Grantham’s new valet, taking over for Mr. Bates.”</p><p>“Oh!” She was a bright bubbly thing and came out from behind the glass counter to shake his hand. He noted that her fingernails were quite clean, as if she scrubbed her nails to keep the filth off her linens. “A member of the big ‘ouse, you must have heard all about me.” And she was quite smug about it too, though not unbearable.</p><p>To be fair, she had a bit of a point. Everyone from Mrs. Bates to Mrs. Hughes had provided him with her name, stating that she knew all about the Crawley family particulars and had supplies from here to Egypt in regard to clothing.</p><p>He eyed the rows of threads, held up on shining bobbins from a wall mount, to the stacks of cloth in descending colors and patterns. He knew shops like this well. For years, they’d been his whole existence.</p><p>“Something like that. I was wondering if I could see your stock of buttons.”</p><p>“I have them back here,” She took him through a small side door into an adjacent room that ran the length of the shop. In the center, an island comprised of hundreds of small compartments held every type of button you could imagine. “Are you looking for something in particular?”</p><p>“No, actually, they’re for my niece,” he lied. “She’s small and she loves to collect odd buttons. I know that must sound silly but I’m indulgent of her.”</p><p>“That’s sweet,” She cooed. “I have a selection down here that might catch her eye!” They passed a standard array of wooden, ivory, and metal buttons to arrive at a rather splendid display of buttons that were full of character. Some looked quite old, like they’d fallen off coats or hats and had lost their partners.</p><p>“All these buttons are three for a pence,” She explained. “There are some expensive ones down at the far end.”</p><p>“My my… “Richard was rather impressed. He imagined the sparkle in Thomas’ eyes as he followed a peculiar trail of buttons. What a queer little joke it would be, to make a treasure map that only he could follow.</p><p>Richard began to pluck up a few that caught his eye, including one of a hummingbird and another of a moon.</p><p>His companion left, returning to her desk. Richard thought she might leave him to it, but she returned rather promptly with a small glass jar underneath his arm. She gave it to him, and he noted that it had at one point in time clearly held strawberry preserves if the labels were to be believed.</p><p>“For your niece, to hold them,” She said. “No charge!”</p><p>Richard thanked her with a silent nod of the head and deposited his collection of buttons into the jar. They made a merry sound as they clinked against the bottom.</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The day of Albert Mason’s funeral was cold and quiet, with heavy clouds blanketing the sky. In a slow trundling march, the inhabitants of Downton made their way to the village church, where a terrible aura of exhaustion made even old Father Travis’ normally slow monologue seem to take on forever. Thomas couldn’t gain the energy to pay attention, too tired to truly take in what was happening. Over and over, like a tape reel in his mind, he heard Mason’s final words to him:</p><p>
  <em>“Fathers love their children. You are loved. It’s time you knew how much.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It brought Thomas back full circle to his own father, a subject which he’d not dwelled upon for what felt like half a lifetime. The last time he’d seen his father had been a cold November afternoon. As a matter of fact, Thomas could remember the exact date and time.</p><p>November 12<sup>th</sup>, 1903… 3:49 in the afternoon. It had rained the night before, so the streets had still been damp.</p><p>His father hadn’t loved him. Thomas had told himself this for twenty years now, a sort of padded barrier meant to keep him from falling into an endless pit of despair. But Mason had told him that Carson was his father, and that Carson loved him. Sitting in church only a few bodies away from Carson, Thomas could not help but glance furtively in the man’s direction once or twice. He was somber and composed, his hands clasped upon his lap around Mason’s funeral pamphlet.</p><p>When Carson glanced his way and their eyes met, Thomas immediately changed direction. It was too much too soon.</p><p> </p><p><em>He doesn’t love me, </em>Thomas thought. <em>Mason had it wrong. </em></p><p>It was the only comfort he could offer himself in that moment.</p><p> </p><p>After the funeral, a quiet gathering was held at the Mason farmhouse. It was the first time that Thomas had ever visited. He found it far larger than he’d expected, with farmers coming from all over the county to pay their respects. The men were grizzled after a lifetime of hard labor under the unforgiving English landscape. They drank quietly, mourning the loss of their numbers. A few of their wives kept Daisy company in the living room, patting her on the back and offering her cup after cup of home brewed tea.</p><p>On the outskirts of it all, Thomas found himself staring at the photos of the Mason family in the hallway. There were pictures of a young Mason with a handsome woman whom Thomas assume had been his wife. They were happy and whole, holding one another with austere expressions. Then came a slew of photographs of children, with a group photo of eight at one point in time. Little girls in frocks and little boys with their caps on, which dwindled down in numbers as Mason aged until there was only one.</p><p>It was disturbing to see an image of William Mason after so many years without him. The idiot was still staring wide eyed and sweet at the camera, like he’d never heard a swear word in his entire life. For some reason, Thomas took a great amount of time to look at William… like he was remembering him all the more.</p><p>Richard was near, watching Thomas with careful eyes as he nursed a cup of tea. Moseley was introducing him to the community, helping him to navigate a room full of strangers. Really, Thomas ought to have been the one to do it… but today he was too tired. Too bitter.</p><p> </p><p>At the far end of the hallway, Thomas kept an eye out for Baxter who was halfway in and out of the house. In a black dress, she looked out across the rolling valley with watering eyes. She was tense, waiting for the inevitable end that she seemed to think would come at any moment.</p><p>When O’Brien walked into the hallway from the opposite end, Thomas stepped back to keep himself in the clear of her line of vision. Unfortunately, this meant she found Baxter instead. She made a bee line for her and joined her on the outer stoop of the back step. Baxter was too in her own head to notice the change in company.</p><p>“Are you alright?” Mrs. O’Brien’s voice had taken on an unnervingly saccharine quality to it. After having known her for so many years, Thomas could sense the false sincerity dripping from every word. It made his skin crawl.</p><p>Baxter rubbed at her breastbone, sweating lightly at her temples. She looked waxen and pale in the dusky light. “Ms. O’Brien, you gave me a fright.”</p><p>“Hard not to take a fright now adays,” She drawled, carefully pulling out a cigarette to light it. She tilted her head, blowing a thin column of smoke from her nose. “You didn’t know Mason, did you?”</p><p>Baxter looked away, crossing her arms over her chest. “We all did,” the sorrow in her voice was evident. This wasn’t easy for her; this wasn’t easy for any of them, to be frank.</p><p>“I was never particularly close to him,” She said, which oddly enough was the truth. “Though I’m sure that doesn’t surprise you.” Baxter did not reply to her, so O’Brien pressed on. “All I’m saying is, I’m sorry. Truly. Bit of a shame, the way he went. Hope it doesn’t stop us from having lunch though. I thought maybe we could go to a little spot I know called the Speckled Hen… It’s a café in Thirsk. They have sparkling lemonade.”</p><p>But where this ought to have been seen as a peace treaty of sorts, Baxter grew more suspicious. She turned on O’Brien, eyes narrowed, and leaned in so that they could speak more intimately.</p><p>Her tone boded distrust. “Do you know something about this?”</p><p>“Me?” O’Brien had the nerve to look surprised, eyes wide with feigned shock. “I’m out of the loop.” She took another drag of her cigarette. “What about you? Any ideas?”</p><p>Baxter leaned back so that she might not get smoke in her face. She was starting to look irritated with her unwelcome companion. She leaned against the door sill, staring out across the country. “I know what I saw.”</p><p>“So, you saw Coyle, then?” O’Brien agreed. “In all his glory?”</p><p>“There was no glory in any of it.”</p><p>O’Brien casually took another drag on her cigarette. It seemed that she did not agree with Baxter’s perspective.</p><p>“D’you think she’ll see him again?”</p><p>There was something about the way she said it that almost came out as teasing, and it made Thomas’ blood go cold. Like she found all of this humorous. Like their lives were nothing more than a game of cards for her to be bet upon and cast on a pile if she lost.</p><p>“Do you?” Baxter quipped. Her reply was sharp and fast. She was getting annoyed now, and only a fool would think otherwise. But O’Brien wasn’t afraid. Indeed, it seemed that she was glad to think that Baxter was rattled. Like that had been her goal all along.</p><p>“Oh, without a doubt,” She said, flicking the butt of her cigarette to knock off some ash. “I think he’s coming back, and who knows what he’ll do when he shows up. I rather like the chaos of it all. It’s been dead boring before now. I ought to thank you for livening the place up.”</p><p>For half a minute, Baxter stared at O’Brien full on in the face.</p><p>There was something in her eyes, something in the way she held her gaze and did not let go. She was sizing O’Brien up, perhaps realizing just how dangerous the woman was. But then, Thomas remembered all that he’d learned about Baxter as of late; that she used to be a dangerous mol herself, and that she’d nearly killed a woman in revenge.</p><p>He wondered, in the back of his mind, whether it was O’Brien who was out of her depth, and not Baxter.</p><p>“… Stay away from me,” Baxter commanded. It seemed that their supposed lunch date was doomed.</p><p>She turned away, and stalked off, leaving O’Brien by herself in the doorway. But instead of looking annoyed, O’Brien was smug, grinning like a cat with a canary as she took another drag of her cigarette. She saw Thomas standing at the end of the hall and wiggled her fingers at him in a disturbing form of greeting. As Baxter passed, making her way to the kitchen, Thomas caught her by the elbow so that she would have to stay and listen.</p><p>She was unnerved, her movements jittery.</p><p>“Easy,” He whispered. “Let me handle her.”</p><p>Baxter took a breath and then swallowed, trying to calm herself.</p><p>“Let me get you something to drink,” Richard murmured. Thomas let Baxter slip away, allowing Richard to comfort her as he took her into the sitting room where everyone was being served a mulled cider.</p><p>Alone in the hallway with O’Brien at the other end, Thomas turned back to look at her. She was still watching him, clearly enjoying the way she’d rattled Baxter to no end.</p><p>He began to unknowingly clench his fists, his fingernails biting half-moon indentions into the flesh of sweating palms.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The walk home from Mason’s funeral was a quiet and somber one, with a police escort leading the way. At the back of the cue, far away from the rest of the crowd, Richard and Thomas walked side by side. It seemed only appropriate, walking along the road where the incident had occurred and leaving the funeral of the man who’d died from it, to confide in Richard the full details of that night. Thomas walked through the scene like it were a nickelodeon. Richard listened attentively, and it gave Thomas comfort to know that if there were a detail he might drop, Richard would undoubtedly pick up on it. Maybe he needed more coddling than he thought; maybe this whole affair had shaken him more than he wanted to admit.</p><p>“He wanted her out of the wagon,” Thomas confided, “He was determined of it.”</p><p>“Well I’m not surprised,” Richard said. Hands shucked in his pockets; he slowly kicked a pebble as he walked so that every so often it skittered along beside them. They’d fallen well behind of the rest of the group now. They’d have to run to catch up. “We’ve got to figure out who that agent is, like Willas said. It could have been any of those men that night.”</p><p>He had a point. But the only man from the crowd that Thomas had known was Christopher… indeed it seemed that if they were ever to make any headway on the subject, he’d be their only lead. Perhaps by now he’d learned who the agent was or could at least give them clues.</p><p>“Christopher was there,” Thomas said.</p><p>“But you don’t think it was him, do you?”</p><p>“No… No.” He could easily recall how Christopher had strong armed his way to the front, with a petrified look on his face. “No, he was just as surprised as any of us. I think something was up, like maybe he didn’t know about the plan till it had already started. He looked panicked when he saw me.”</p><p>“Two worlds collide,” Richard shrugged. “Maybe he’s closer with Coyle than you think.”</p><p>“I don’t think so,” It didn’t seem likely. Chris was a criminal, but he wasn’t a maniac. The only person that Thomas could see willingly being friends with Peter Coyle was an absolute psycho. “He’s told me plenty of times that Coyle’s just a paycheck to him. He’s as stuck as we are, just on the opposite side.”</p><p>“An’ you believe him?”</p><p>They’d reached a bend in the road, so that they were momentarily cut off from the rest of the group heading back to the abbey. Richard slowed up, perhaps enjoying the privacy they’d been granted. Thomas matched his pace, so that they were now ambling along instead of truly walking.</p><p>“For now, yes. But that could change.” After all, Chris was a wild card, and had a habit of making poor decisions when under stress such as shooting six police officers.</p><p>Richard’s tone took a turn for the amorous, a saucy smile spreading upon his handsome face. “An’ what else did he suggest? Something about… you an’ he?” He looked left and right, ensuring that they were alone before pulling Thomas to a slight stop.</p><p>Thomas scoffed, shocked at his audacity. And here he was, the man who’d urged him to be more circumspect!</p><p>“He… has this ridiculous notion in his head that we could be an item,” Thomas agreed. Richard arched an eyebrow.</p><p>“An’ could you?”</p><p>“No. Not in the slightest.” And it was almost laughable when Richard was standing before him now.</p><p>“And why not?” Now he most certainly was teasing. Thomas tried to continue walking, certain that he’d get snapped at by Carson for lagging behind.</p><p>“You know why not.”</p><p>But as he walked away, Richard took him suddenly by the hand and stopped him; Thomas looked about, surprised by the brazenness of the move.</p><p>“Richard we’re in public,” He whispered. Still, Richard did not make to let go. He looked all about, wary of strangers, and then pulled Thomas clear off the road so that they went down into the forests that lined either side of the path. Thomas’ heart was beginning to hammer between his ribs, unsure of what exactly Richard was intending to do. This was downright madness, particularly when they knew there to be a group of criminals hiding out in the woods. Richard, however, was so intent on his own ends that he could not seem to remember they were treading on thin ice.</p><p>“Richard, we shouldn’t,” Thomas protested. Richard paused, looking about. “It’s dangerous, an’ we’ve fallen behind.”</p><p>“It’s never truly safe, what we do, who we are,” Richard countered. “An’ we won’t be gone long. Carson’ll take charge it two shakes of a lamb’s tail and Bates is with him. They can look after the family until we get back. We can make up a lie, say we got stopped by a farmer in need of help.”</p><p>“I don’t want to go to far in,” Thomas said, nodding to the darkened depths of the woods. Satisfied, Richard relaxed and allowed Thomas to lean up against the bark of an ancient oak. Beneath them was a layer of crunching leaves, so that every step they took was unnaturally loud.</p><p>Richard leaned in; a hand close to Thomas’ face as he pressed up against the tree.</p><p>He thought he might faint from nerves, wondering what on earth Richard had planned for them.</p><p>“… Bit daft of us,” his voice was like a squeak, “There are murderer’s out here, Rich-“</p><p>Richard carefully placed a gloved finger to Thomas’ lips. The leather was salty and warm against the tip of his tongue.</p><p>“I know,” Richard whispered, his breath spiced by whiskey from the funeral. “But we do what we must to get by in this world… and this is something I must do.”</p><p>“What?” Thomas asked.</p><p>Richard did not answer him with words. Instead, he leaned down and kissed Thomas full on the mouth.</p><p> </p><p>They didn’t have long, and they were tempting fate by every second that they stood out here. If a policeman were to stumble by and go just a bit off the road, he’d see everything and they’d be damned. As a result, Richard’s kiss was passionate and fast, sucking Thomas under in seconds so that suddenly he was swooning in Richard’s arms. His tongue was in Thomas’ mouth, their teeth clashing against one another-</p><p>A man could get used to this.</p><p>And it was inevitable that Thomas felt his hands straying, going to places where they really shouldn’t. Threading their way through Richard’s coiffed hair and down the lapels of his jacket. He felt each button upon his vest, grabbed and rubbed them with his thumb. He let his hands go lower, even as Richard crushed him tight in his arms.</p><p>The tips of his fingers ever so delicately grazed the apex of his thighs, frighteningly close to that place which only men like he understood best.</p><p>Richard broke their kiss, peppering Thomas’ cheek with affection so that he could whisper huskily in the shell of his ear.</p><p>“Not yet,” He reached down with a hand, locking his fingers into Thomas’ own and pulling them away from the tent in his pants. “Not out here.”</p><p>“But it’s not safe elsewhere,” Thomas turned his face, so that their noses touched and collided.</p><p>“Let me figure that out,” Richard said.</p><p>But they were alone, and Carson and Bates would be able to hold down the fort. Why not throw caution to the wind? They were already kissing, and no one had come along or spotted them. Maybe… just maybe…</p><p>“Why not now?” It was pathetic, how tiny his voice sounded. But Richard didn’t seem to mind. Instead he very carefully kissed Thomas upon the tip of his nose and then on his eyelids.</p><p>He swallowed, his voice fluttering with nerves, “W-we could if you wanted. I don’t mind. I don’t… you don’t have to baby me, Richard.”</p><p>He scoffed at that, whispering into Thomas’ ear again as he held him. “You’ve always been denied the finer things in life. Men like us, we have to know how to make do with the barest of essentials… but if we can make a situation where it’s ideal for us, where we could get what we want and deserve, then surely we should.”</p><p>He couldn’t even begin to imagine the long list of requirements such a scenario would require. “That sounds a bit idealistic to me.”</p><p> </p><p>“But not unrealistic,” He challenged. And Thomas supposed that he might be right. But it was terribly hard to deny himself when the moment was there for him to seize. It had been over a decade since Thomas had been with another man, and in that instant, he was craving the physical touch of another. The idea of sex had become foreign to him… he wanted to change that, to make love to Richard Ellis and be made love to.</p><p>The man inspired things within him, wild passions that could never be viewed in the light of day for shame.</p><p>“… But just so you know,” Richard leaned in, pressing one of his legs between Thomas’ so that he could feel the man’s erection growing. Oh, how lovely the heat was, how scintillating and desirous-!</p><p>“If I was younger, more stupid… I would.” Richard gave him a knowing look; it was dark, and full of animalistic intent. So, it seemed that Thomas was not the only one with desires for the flesh. “I would in a heartbeat. I’d take you right here right now on the forest floor and savor every second of it. I’d make you scream my name, an’ forget yours.”</p><p>He shuddered, undone by Richard’s filthy request.</p><p>“… Well….” He swallowed around a tightly clenched throat, daring to be seductive. “Christopher was quick to take up the taste, wasn’t he-“?</p><p>“An’ get arrested,” Richard reminded him, tapping him delicately upon the nose. “You deserve more than that… much more…” For whatever reason, Richard was petting his hair again. Clearly this was something he liked to do, where Thomas was concerned.</p><p>“Do I…” He leaned into the touch, nuzzling Richard’s palm to his cheek.</p><p>“Mhmm,” Richard kissed him ever so gently upon his mouth, so that when he spoke Thomas could feel the words against his flesh. “An’ I fully intend to make sure that when we do have that moment… it’s special an’ sacred. An’ ours alone.”</p><p>Clearly Richard had put quite a lot of thought into this little affair. Thomas had to wonder if he was overreaching though. What did a special sacred moment sound like to Richard? What did it look like? Even Thomas, who had been denied sex for a decade, still wanted there to be more than the simple truth of flesh meeting flesh. He wanted to have a love like Bates and Anna. To know what it felt like to have someone at his side who adored him completely.</p><p> </p><p>“So… do you want to?” Thomas wondered. “Bugger, I mean.”</p><p>It was a test, he decided. Would Richard only want sex, or would he want more?</p><p>“I don’t want to bugger you,” He scoffed at the word. “I want to make love to you. I want to see you melt like butter between my fingers. I want to know what your face looks like when you’re coming because I’m making you come. I want to hear you say my name, because it’s the only sound you can make anymore. I want to see you come completely undone, and then put you back together again with tender care. I want all that an’ more, Thomas… I want to love you, utterly and truly. My little forest nymph.”</p><p>Staggered, Thomas blinked bemusedly at the man, wondering at the depths of his affection. “Jesus Christ…” he swore aloud, “Where have you been my whole life.”</p><p>Richard’s way of response was to lean closely so that he might press his lips to the shell of Thomas’ ear. There, he whispered: “I have seen a world anointed with the rings of kings, but I have only known greatness with your view of things.”</p><p>It meant nothing, just a nonsensical babble, but to Thomas that line was dearer than he could adequately express. To know that someone who had reached the pinnacle of their career would sacrifice all of it just to be with him meant more than Christopher ending six lives to see him again. He supposed that it was easy to kill a man. It was much more difficult to ‘kill’ your own future.</p><p>Richard leaned back, and Thomas chased him to kiss him softly upon the lips. Despite the fact that it was less passionate than before, it somehow meant more.</p><p>“We better get moving,” Richard whispered. “The others will wonder where we’ve gotten to.”</p><p>But moving would mean leaving, and Thomas did not want to leave this moment with Richard. Not when they were so precious and far between, like diamonds strung about the throat of a wealthy heiress.</p><p>“… I don’t want to leave this moment with you,” Thomas begged. “Can’t we stay just a bit longer?”</p><p>“It’s not safe,” Richard said, and this was quite true, “An’ I promise you, darling. There will be more moments for us in the future.”</p><p>This promise was enough to sate Thomas, and so he allowed Richard to pull him away back towards the road. As they reached the crest of the hill where weeds became dirt and eventually cobblestone, the pair of them let go of each other and took several steps apart for decency. By the time they’d returned to the world of the light, they were back to looking like two ordinary blokes simply having a stroll.</p><p> </p><p>Yet in the gloom, someone still remained.</p><p> </p><p>Hidden between the brush and the leaves, Christopher Webster’s heart was aching and twisting, practically dying in his breast. The agony which he felt rippled through him with such depth that he wondered if he would be able to survive it. The damnable evidence of his heart wetted his cheeks, he was less than a man like a mongrel begging for scraps.</p><p>He’d deluded himself into thinking that Thomas would be his. That delusion had been shattered forever by the sight of the tawny gentlemen kissing him so passionately on the mouth. Christopher had never hated a man more than he hated this fellow, whoever the hell he was.</p><p><em>Richard. </em>Thomas had called him that…. Had protested against being babied even as <em>Richard </em>has kissed him so passionately upon the mouth.</p><p>He would learn more, he swore himself that. He would do what it took to claw his way back into Thomas’ heart. He would not go down without a fight (for Christopher Webster was nothing if not tenacious). He would have a chance with Thomas before it was all said and done.</p><p>He promised himself these things as he walked away through the forest, drying his eyes and cheeks lest someone accuse him of having emotions. A man in his position could not afford such frivolities.</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Life went on, as it was always meant to do. It was difficult for the downstairs staff to let go of the loss of Mason. He might be buried but he wasn’t forgotten. Daisy and Andy were back living in the attics, too afraid to go home to the farm at night. As a result, a few of the farmers had pitched in to help take care of the livestock until Daisy could make other arrangements. It needed to be done, and sooner rather than later, but it seemed that she didn’t have the mentality to stomach the idea of taking up the reigns. A few farmers had even approached her with the idea of selling, but she hadn’t been able to answer them either. She was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Either she would have to get rid of the farm, or she would have to have it worked. She could not have it both ways.</p><p> </p><p>All in all, it left the abbey in a dismal gloom that Thomas found it difficult to escape from. In this haze of despair, he’d lost details that normally would have caught up to him, which was why it smacked him with surprise one evening when, intent on heading to bed, he noticed there was a button on the floor of his office.</p><p>It was of a hummingbird.</p><p>He picked it up, confused, for nothing he wore had ever featured a button of such a peculiar shape. Unsure if it might have belonged to another member of staff, he pocketed it and continued towards the door only to notice something shining and red on the floor.</p><p>It was another button, this time in the shape of a four petaled poppy.  </p><p> </p><p>“… What on earth?” Thomas picked up the poppy button, wondering at what it must have fallen off of. Two in one instant? This didn’t seem normal.</p><p>He opened the door, and sure enough found yet another button. This one was of a sailboat with a coral shell for its sail.</p><p>One after another, Thomas continued to follow the thread of buttons. They lead him to the stairwell and then up it, till he’d reached the attic and had in his hand a collection of twenty odd buttons that did not match each other.</p><p>He saw the trail leading to his doorstep and smiled. He could sense Richard’s antics in this.</p><p>Opening the door to his bedroom, Thomas found a glass jar sitting on his bedside table with a purple velvet ribbon wrapped around its neck. A handwritten note lay propped at the base.</p><p>Delighted, he picked it up to view in the hall light: <em>“A jar for your delights, as we find them one by one.” </em></p><p>Pleased and infatuated with his prizes, Thomas dumped the whole handful of buttons into the glass jar. They tinkled as they hit the bottom, like coins falling into a wealthy man’s purse.</p><p>He was getting soppy over buttons. This was starting to get ridiculous.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The next morning, over breakfast, Thomas took great delight in making eyes at Richard who sat next to him reading the paper. The man betrayed nothing about his prizes, but there was a knowing smile at the corner of his mouth which Thomas found fascinating.</p><p>Taking a slow sip of coffee, Thomas waited until O’Brien had been called up by Lady Grantham before making his move.</p><p>“I found the most curious thing the other day,” Thomas said. Richard looked up from his paper, his hazel eyes twinkling with mirth.</p><p>“Did you?” He smiled, pausing to take a bite out of his toast.</p><p>“Buttons,” Thomas leaned in a bit, grinning mischievously. “Beautiful buttons.”</p><p>“Very nice,” clearly the plan had worked, whatever the plan was. Richard resumed his paper, using it as cover so that the others could not tell what he was saying to Thomas. “Keep them safe. There are more coming.”</p><p>“And how am I to repay this?” Thomas asked. But Richard didn’t seem to have taken this aspect into account.</p><p>“Love isn’t meant to be repaid,” He muttered, too soft to be overheard by anyone save Thomas. “It’s to be enjoyed.”</p><p>“And what do you enjoy?” Thomas muttered back.</p><p>“Me?” Richard flipped the page in his paper to the news from the south. Apparently, the River Thames had flooded in London, with 14 drowned. The moat at the Tower of London (which had been drained and planted with grass before Thomas was even born) had been completely refilled by the river. “I enjoy you.”</p><p>Thomas cast a sly glance to his left and found the others to be occupied with reading the paper to learn more about the drownings. He whispered as softly as he dared. “No, Richard. You know what I mean. I want to do something for you.”</p><p>“I keep telling you,” Richard said. “This isn’t an exchange, Thomas. I’m not looking for payment. What I do, I do because the thought of you drives me utterly mad.”</p><p>He’d never driven anyone mad unless you were counting Carson and that was hardly a romantic relationship. “Why?”</p><p>His answer was a peculiar one. Richard was perplexed and looked up from his paper to dwell instead upon Thomas’ face. His eyes were studying the shape of Thomas’ mouth.</p><p>“The shape of your mouth,” He whispered. “The red of your lips. I want to press it to mine every day. All day. An’ I can’t… an’ that makes me mad.”</p><p>Thomas shuddered from Richard’s words.</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t nearly as cut and dry as buttons, to be told that the shape and color of his mouth was something which Richard was drawn to. He spent a whole day trying to wonder what he might do to one-up the gift of buttons, but the more he thought the more he was in a muddle. His only source of inspiration came from a rag that Anna took upstairs to Lady Mary. On the cover of it, Thomas noticed a beautiful woman with rouge on her cheeks and crimson lips.</p><p>And then it dawned on him there was something rather exotic and lustful he might do to inspire Richard as thanks for the buttons.</p><p> </p><p>He spent the next three days trying to work up the nerve to do what he must in order to get the ball rolling. In order to buy a tube of lipstick, he had to get a lady’s rag and make a purchase from it. He could either do this by mail or over the telephone, but both would be tricky. He could hardly write his own name on the script, could he? And calling would only be made the worse. What would someone think if a man was asking for a shade of lipstick? They’d either laugh their socks off or telephone the police (hell maybe both). All in all, Thomas knew that what he desperately needed for the first time in his life was a woman.</p><p>And there was only one woman he trusted with such a delicate task.</p><p> </p><p>After the funeral, Baxter had become something of a recluse. She and Moseley would disappear in the evenings for hours, which ought to have given him cause for concern. But it seemed that he brought her great comfort (which made sense since she was marrying him), so he allowed it. All in all, Thomas hadn’t seen her properly in days when he went to fetch her from Mrs. Hughes’ office. He found her helping the housekeeper with a stack of dated invoices that were meant to either be burnt or filed away for later usage. It was an arduous task, and one that Mrs. Hughes did not like entrusting to other people. For that reason, Mrs. Hughes sat nearby going through the stacks even as Baxter went through them first. This was a sort-of test, and one that Thomas did not enjoy interrupting.</p><p> </p><p>However, after taking nearly a week to work up his nerve, he knew that it was now or never: “Ms. Baxter, will you see me in my office? It’s important,” Thomas said. Baxter put down her stack of invoices at once.</p><p>“Coyle?” She asked. Mrs. Hughes bristled at the name, wary.</p><p>“No,” He assured her. “Nothing like that. Nothing bad.” He gestured out the door. She followed him at once, handing Mrs. Hughes back her invoices.</p><p>“Should I be concerned?” She called out. Technically, given what Thomas was about to ask Baxter to do, yes, she ought to be very concerned.</p><p>“I have this handled,” Thomas said, which wasn’t necessarily a lie.</p><p>Secluded in Thomas’ office, Baxter let her guard down a bit and gave him a small if pained smile. He could tell it was getting harder for her to find faith in the day to day. Hopefully, this conversation would lighten her mood.</p><p>“So, what’s the matter?” She asked. “Is it O’Brien?”</p><p>“No,” Thomas assured her. He perched himself on the edge of his desk, folding his arms over his chest. He felt a bit foolish and young, asking her to do this. “I need you to do me a favor, and not ask why. And never tell anyone either.”</p><p>Perhaps sensing that he was up to his old tricks, she pursed her lips with disapproval. “What are you doing now?”</p><p>“Nothing that involves other people,” Thomas said. “Nothing like that…”</p><p>“Then what is the favor?” she asked.</p><p>“Do you have any rags that sell makeup?” Thomas asked.</p><p>Baxter blinked, then did a double take. Brow furrowed, she looked for a moment like she might ask him to repeat what he just said. “W… Yes, I do.” She coughed, refocusing herself on the conversation. “I have a few for Lady Grantham. I know where they’re kept, still. There’s one is Mrs. Hughes’ office. And Daisy had one from when she got married.”</p><p>“… I need you to sneak me one,” Thomas said.</p><p>“Sneak you one?” Where before she might have thought it a peculiar request, now she was convinced something was askew. He glared at her, hoping she might remember that she was bound to him in oath just as he was bound to her. And perhaps it was the fact that they’d done so much for one another as of late that Baxter began to soften. Something was shifting in her eyes, like she was mentally calibrating why a man like Thomas might want a woman’s makeup magazine.</p><p>“I know you told me not to ask why but I feel the more I know the more I can help,” She said gently.</p><p>Now came for the damning truth, and even as he said it Thomas realized just how stupid he sounded. How see-through and foolish. “A friend of mine needs a tube of lipstick.”</p><p>Recognition dawned upon her, but instead of becoming disgusted, she instead looked more at ease. “Oh, well you don’t need a rag for that,” She assured him. “You can get lipstick at the drugstore in the village. The rag’s for more expensive things that women like Lady Grantham or brides use. What friend needs it?”</p><p>He flushed scarlet, certain that should she know the full truth she’d think he mental. “It’s complicated, thank you,” He said in clipped tones. Now the question remained of how on earth he was going to be able to walk into a drugstore and buy a tube of lipstick. Maybe he could lie and say it was for his sister’s birthday?</p><p>Baxter didn’t take offense, she just continued to soften. “Thomas, you can trust me. You know you can. Is the friend you?”</p><p>His prior blush was put to shame by the scarlet roasting his cheeks now. He refused to answer, arms folded tightly over his chest as he instead took avid interest at the floor. There was a clear scuff mark where the guest chair must have scrapped along at some point. He’d need to get that fixed.</p><p>His lack of answer was answer enough. She nodded, content with her line of questioning. “I’ll take care of it.” She said.</p><p>“What do you mean?” How would she take care of it? She was in just as much of a pickle as he, if not more so due to Coyle. But she just waved him off with a knowing smile.</p><p>“I mean I’ll take care of it.” But as she reached the door, she paused, doubling back with a spark of remembering. “Oh, I’ll need money.”</p><p>“How much?” Thomas pulled out his wallet from his jacket pocket, which hung upon a hook on the wall.</p><p>“Two shillings.”</p><p>“Two shillings?!” He rounded on her shocked. What in the sodding hell could make a single tube of lipstick worth two shillings? “For a tube of lipstick-? The hell are they putting in it? Gold flakes?”</p><p>But instead of telling him off, she only smiled and said in a sing-song voice, “If you give me three it’ll feel better on your lips, have more color shades, and come in a pretty gold carrying tube.”</p><p> </p><p>Caught between a rock and a hard place, Thomas bitterly pulled out the third shilling and handed it over to Baxter. No more spending money for him, it seemed.</p><p>“Tell anyone, I murder you,” He warned.</p><p>“Get in line, there’s a que.” She pocketed his shillings and left.</p><p>Was it wrong of him to find her words amusing?</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>That night, Thomas found himself looking at his lips in the mirror for far too long. He tried to imagine what he might look like with lipstick on, and if Richard would find it attractive or not. In a way, it felt incredibly naughty to imagine himself in women’s clothing. Part of him wanted to try it, part of him wanted to hide from the idea forever lest it make him more inverted.</p><p>But Richard inspired a deep well of lust within Thomas, and it was one that hadn’t been tapped in years. That night, laying alone in bed, Thomas closed his eyes and imagined Richard in bed with him. It sparked a wave of desire he could not help but fan; he touched himself, biting his pillow in order to keep quiet.</p><p>It was wrong, he knew, to masturbate in Carson’s old bed. But with his toes curled in ecstasy and his eyes rolling in the back of his head, Thomas could think of nothing but the idea of Richard naked, fucking him from behind with all his might.</p><p> </p><p>That night he passed out with his pants slung low upon his hips, his hand still soiled from his own release.</p><p> </p><p>The next day, Thomas felt like an idiot, waking up with a hand covered in dried semen. Embarrassed, he washed himself down and tried his best not to be humiliated when he stared in the mirror. He shaved and dressed, all the while imagining his tasks for the day to keep from getting an erection. He hadn’t battled with such elements since the age of twenty; what the hell was wrong with him?</p><p>He was a grown adult. He ought to know better.</p><p> Thomas spent extra time that day doing menial tasks. He organized the silver pantry, stood at attention while Lord Grantham had tea with Branson, and then returned downstairs to start a tally on the pantry. This wasn’t particularly important, and frankly Mrs. Hughes should do it. When he was interrupted in his afternoon tallying by Baxter, it caused him to feel thrown and befuddled. She was followed with coat in hand by Moseley, which only confused Thomas more.</p><p>He was too busy trying not to think about last night and the masturbation session he’d endured.</p><p>“Mr. Barrow,” Baxter flagged him down as he passed. He stopped at once to give her audience. “Mr. Moseley and I are going down to the village. I need to run an errand.”</p><p>“Alright,” he could spare her with ease, “Do you need protection?”</p><p>“A policeman is going to escort us,” Moseley said.</p><p>“Is he armed?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Satisfied, Thomas walked slowly with Moseley and Baxter to the area door. They took their time, hardly rushed on such a calm day. “Where are you going to?”</p><p>“The drugstore,” Baxter said. Thomas was taken aback, thinking of the inventory he’d only just filled. What did they need from the drugstore?</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>But instead of being straight forward, Baxter instead glared at him like he was being a pest. “Because I have three shillings burning a hole in my pocket, Mr. Barrow. That’s why.”</p><p> </p><p>Ah. <em>Ah! </em></p><p>Flushed, Thomas nodded and let it go. Christ he could be thick sometimes, why had he forgotten? But before Moseley could enquire as to this bizarre interaction, Richard walked up. He offered Thomas his hand, to show he held a button with a moon on it.</p><p>“I found this in the passage,” Richard said. The cheek of him! “I think it’s yours, yes?”</p><p>Thomas licked his lips, taking up the button from Richard’s hand. The touch of fingertips to palm put an electric shock through his blood, so that his heart skipped a beat. So close to living the truth but so far away.</p><p>“Thank you… I lost it,” Thomas lied. Another treasure for his jar it seemed.</p><p>“Happy to help you find it,” Richard said.</p><p>“That’s an odd button,” Moseley remarked. Thomas wished he would shove off, ruining their quality moment with his inane babble.</p><p>“I’m an odd man,” Thomas grumbled. Now the four of them were heading for the area door. Thomas opened it so they could step outside. Sure enough, a policeman was waiting for Baxter and Moseley, and tipped his hat to them in greeting.</p><p>“All this security is making me jumpy,” Moseley mused. It was difficult not to feel the strain now adays. It made Thomas long for anonymity, to think that the world was passing him by without notice. Every time someone sneezed these days, half the room panicked.</p><p>“Well what can we do,” Baxter was starting to lose her happy edge, eyes tinted with sorrow. “He’s everywhere. Like a phantom…. Smoke in your bare hands. You can’t catch him or stop him-“</p><p>“I keep telling you, the police will stop him,” Moseley urged. Clearly, they’d had private conversations on the subject. “They did it the last time, they can do it again.”</p><p>“Don’t play with what if’s,” Thomas agreed. “You’ll drive yourself crazy, and me too. We know that Coyle is in the woods, and that someone in the village is probably working for him. We’ll find out more soon, and then he’ll be hanged.”</p><p>“I’ll bring the rope myself,” Moseley said. For a normally polite and well-mannered man, he sounded on the verge of being sharp.</p><p>“What do you think he’ll do to me?” Baxter wasn’t meeting any of their eyes, instead staring out across the fields of the abbey where it bordered on trees. This was now the thin line of their fragile world. On one side, peace… on the other, chaos.</p><p>“Let’s not even go there,” Thomas didn’t want to entertain any fantasies of violence. “Just… watch your back an’ trust no one.”</p><p>“Especially O’Brien,” Richard said. Baxter scoffed at the name, clearly, she didn’t need any convincing.</p><p>“I never trusted her to begin with,” She assured. She buttoned up her coat to keep out the winter wind, and carefully donned her hat with a pin.</p><p>“Let’s just keep her out of it, entirely,” Moseley said. “Don’t bother with her, she’s just another leech in this house.”</p><p>But Thomas bristled at the implication. Plural leeches? “So there’s more than one?” He sneered.</p><p>“Well… I mean…” Moseley flustered, cheeks going bright pink. It didn’t help when Baxter glared at him, “Sorry it just came out. It was a reflex-!”</p><p>Thomas scoffed, appalled at Moseley’s nerve. Honestly, would the man never change? He turned on his heel and left, so that Richard was left behind with Moseley looking nervous and Baxter grinding her teeth.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The slam of the backdoor made Phyllis jump slightly. Joseph put his head in his hand, embarrassed.</p><p>“… It slipped out,” he said. Not that that made it any better.</p><p>“Well, stop it from slipping out!” Phyllis warned him. It was her old soap box, and during these horrible times she was already too tense for simple squabbles.</p><p>Mr. Ellis didn’t look happy either. His eyes were narrowed as he looked Joseph up and down; Phyllis had to wonder at his peculiar relationship to Thomas, and what exactly was going on between them. It had never been laid bare before her, but there was more too it than met the eye. Only a fool would imagine otherwise.</p><p>“I should tell you, Mr. Ellis, I know you’re rather friendly with Mr. Barrow but he can be a bit-“</p><p>Mr. Ellis cut him off, refusing to hear another word against Thomas. “Mr. Moseley, we don’t know one another well… but my ‘friendship’ with Mr. Barrow is not up for discussion between us.” The way he said it, with such stone-cold quality, made Phyllis all the more certain something was going on between them. “Not today, or any other day. Excuse me.” He tipped his head to them, his warning stern but not unkind, and left to shut the door behind him. Now alone in the courtyard save for their police escort, Joseph blew out a hasty breath, exhausted.</p><p> </p><p>“Cor I just put my foot in it,” He complained. They began to walk down the path to the main lane, with the policeman behind them. Phyllis noted that he carried his service revolver out and in plain sight. Perhaps he was hoping to scare off any potential predators before they even stepped out onto the path.</p><p> </p><p>Little did he know that in Phyllis’ coat pocket was a deboning knife, stolen from the kitchens while Mrs. Patmore hadn’t been looking. She trust no one at this point, not even the police. Who was to say how many men were working for Peter, or what angles they were presenting?</p><p>“Why do you think he’s a leech?” Phyllis complained. “Hasn’t he done enough to prove himself otherwise?”</p><p>“It’s a long story, between us,” Joseph reminded her. “I know you’ve known him since he was a boy, but you weren’t here in 1918, Phyllis. He was a nightmare back then.”</p><p>“I keep telling you, there’s plenty of reasons,” Phyllis said. “He’s had it worse than you know.”</p><p>“I know, I know,” it was a hasty apology, and not meant for more than a simple gloss over. “Let’s just stop talking about it. Tell me what we’re going to the drugstore to buy.”</p><p>“A tube of lipstick for a friend,” Phyllis said. She dared not reveal anything else. Though Joseph was a fair man, and had learned to see past her own issues, she worried that Thomas’ homosexuality would be far too much for him to tackle.</p><p>“Why are you buying her a tube of lipstick?” Joseph wondered. They made it to the main lane, and took a left to head to the village. They dared not walk openly on the road, not when anyone could be watching.</p><p>“As a treat,” Phyllis said, and this was the truth. “She’s been very dear to me.”</p><p>“You’ll have to introduce her to me.”</p><p>“She’s a firecracker.”</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The next day, Thomas found himself overwhelmed with thoughts of Richard and sex. The more that he tried to deny it to himself, the more it became like forbidden fruit. His body had been cut off from him for so many years, now it was waking up and it demanded to be fed. It wanted to consume, to devour and be devoured in ways that he hadn’t experienced since he was a randy teenager behind a bike shed.</p><p>He could remember his first time. He’d been fourteen years old, on the run and homeless, hiding from the world under a bridge in Leeds. He’d found refuge amongst a group of traveling men, most of whom were probably criminals. Following in their footsteps, he’d gone to an underground bar where whores in scant clothing had sat on the laps of gangsters and smugglers had peddled their wares. You could buy just about anything for a pound. A snuffbox full of cocaine, a bottle of absinthe from France, or in the case of a gentleman in the back corner, a night with a fourteen-year-old runaway.</p><p>He supposed, in hindsight, that ought to have been a red flag. Now that he was the age of the man who’d taken his virginity, he could safely say that if a fourteen year old in rags had climbed onto his lap and offered a ride, he’d decline and then give the lad a stern talking to. What sort of man slept with a teenager? It was practically pedophilia, and it set Thomas’ teeth on edge to know he’d been taken advantage of in such a way. How many years had he wasted being a fool to other men?</p><p>Lost in his own thoughts, Thomas did not almost hear the knock on his office door. It gave him a start, and he sat up straight in his office chair to fix his tie and smooth his hair.</p><p>“Yes?” The knock was revealed to be Baxter, who shut the door behind her. She offered him a package wrapped in brown paper and tied up in string. It was rather small; he wondered what it was.</p><p>“This arrived for you in the post.”</p><p>He took it, perplexed, and turned it over in his hands. Could this be a trap from Coyle, or a secret message sent from Christopher? “Strange… there’s no address or stamp. Did you see who sent it?”</p><p>But instead of saying ‘yes’ or ‘no’, Baxter stared at him like she couldn’t believe how abysmally stupid he was being. “… Thomas.” She was close to chewing his ear off for his density.</p><p>He looked at her, then the package, and suddenly realized what exactly it was. That damnable lipstick, again! Cor, he’d become too distracted!</p><p>“Right, right, sorry-“ He put the package into his pocket for safe keeping. “Thank you.”</p><p>“Your change,” She offered him a few pence, but Thomas just shook his head.</p><p>“Keep it, we’ll call it a tip.”</p><p>She put the change back in her pocket, but instead of calling it a day, she added. “I tried to get a color which would flatter the subject. I think it’ll be appreciated.”</p><p>“For three shillings, it better flatter,” He scoffed. Honestly, what a load of faff for something so small. He’d bought ties for less!</p><p>“So…” she glanced over her shoulder, ensuring no one was coming through the door. “What is this for, really? I never took you for the type to fall in for this. I mean… I know things aren’t simple, but-“</p><p>“No, you’re right, “He agreed, for never in his life had he thought of putting on lipstick. “It’s not something I thought of… It’s just…” He pursed his lips, how to say the truth without admitting it outright?</p><p>“Someone has commented about the color of my mouth,” Thomas explained. “That they liked it, and… I suppose I wanted to give them something they could… keep? Does that make any sense?”</p><p>Baxter grinned, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “A bit like how you’d keep a button?”</p><p>“I don’t know what you’re implying, and I don’t like it,” little did she know the offending button was still in his jacket pocket next to the tube of lipstick. She was getting far too close to the truth for his liking. But instead of mocking him, she offered him a bit of sound advice:</p><p>“Do it on a bit of stationary, and put some of your cologne on it too,” She said. “That way it’ll smell like you too.”</p><p>And Christ be damned it that wasn’t a particularly good idea. He ought to keep her around more if she was going to be so useful.</p><p>Mind burning with possibilities, Thomas waved her off. “I haven’t the faintest notion what you’re babbling about, please leave my office and bother someone else.”</p><p>“He’ll like it,” She assured him.</p><p>“Thank you, goodbye—” and at this, he opened his day planner to scratch off a few items.</p><p>She headed for the door, clearly smug with herself. And to be frank, she ought to be proud. She’d done him a grand turn in this, far more than she could possibly imagine. Her sense of kindness and understanding was few and far between in an awful world. But it seemed that her history of understanding in his favor was replicated in his own, for she paused by the door to turn and look at him with a soft and sweet gaze that rendered him speechless.</p><p>“A good turn deserves another,” She declared, “And you’ve been doing backflips for me as of late.” She paused, looking down at her shoes as if ashamed, “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Thomas. You’ve been keeping my head above water with Coyle.”</p><p>“Well… I…” what the hell did one say to that?</p><p>The pair of them were spared their painful interaction by a sudden knock on the door. When it opened, it early ended up hitting Baxter in the face, and she had to step out of the way quickly so that she would be spared. Andy was on the other side, and he balked at the close proximity of Baxter.</p><p>“God I’m sorry!” He declared. “I didn’t mean to hit you-“</p><p>“No, no, it’s fine. I was just leaving.” She straightened her collar where it had come askew, and carefully made her way out into the hall. She, like Thomas, no longer openly trusted Andy Parker and it showed in her voice.</p><p>Slightly embarrassed, Andy approached Thomas’ desk to offer him a letter. “Thomas, you have a letter-“</p><p>“Mr. Barrow, please,” He was not in a trifling move. He took the letter and pocketed it, not sparing a second look to Andy as he continued on with crossing out items on his day planner. Now that Lady Edith and Lord Hexham were gone, they would need to give the room a good tiding over. Perhaps now would be an opportune time to also flip the mattress?</p><p>“…You always wanted me to call you Thomas, before.” Andy mused. Did he detect a bit of sorrow in the lad’s voice?</p><p>“Well that was before,” Thomas grumbled. Before Coyle, before Baxter’s humiliation, and before Andy had been quick enough to think that Thomas was the reason for their near-death experience. “Times have changed and so have I.”</p><p>For a moment, Andy simply stood before Thomas’ desk, twisting his fingers nervously. Annoyed by his presence, Thomas shot a glare, “Is there something else you require, Andrew?”</p><p>“Only….” Clearly it was hard to summon up the courage when Thomas wasn’t being generous. “I wanted to apologize for the other night.”</p><p>Thomas had a feeling he didn’t want to apologize and was only doing so because he felt embarrassed. He waved it off. “I do not wish to speak about that night.”</p><p>“It was only that-“</p><p>“I’m serious, Andrew,” Thomas’ tone turned sharp. “I am your butler; you would do well to remember that when you speak to me from now on. Please return to your work, you’re not paid to be idle.”</p><p>Cowed, Andy slowly turned and headed for the door. But he was either too young or too stupid to pay heed to Thomas’ warnings. He turned back and returned to Thomas’ desk.</p><p>“Look you can be mad at me all you want but I’m scared for Daisy,” Andy complained. “She’s in a bad way, and I’m worried about the baby. She’s not eating well and can’t sleep. I was wondering if I could have leave to take her to Dr. Clarkson. Please? Or are you too angry at me for that.”</p><p>It was a stab at emotional comeuppance, but it missed its mark. Thomas had spent far too many years cooped up with people who hated him to feel the sting of a simple burn.</p><p>Without missing a beat, Thomas flipped the planner to the next day to find it bare of dinner guests. “Take Daisy to Dr. Clarkson’s tomorrow, and tell him to call me if things are severe. You may go.”</p><p>He marked it down and did not look up again as Andy left. He was awkward, shuffling out. Perhaps he realized that he’d made himself look slightly like a fool in his emotional outburst.</p><p>As soon as the door to the hall closed, Thomas contented himself with opening up his new letter. He found that it was unmarked, save for his name, and did not bear a postage stamp.</p><p>He had a feeling this particular envelope did not hold another tube of lipstick.</p><p>Opening it with his pen knife, Thomas was surprised to find a tidy scrawl inside:</p><p>
  <em>“I have to tell you something important. Bring him to the Miller’s Pond. Midnight, tonight. – C.W.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The C.W. was obvious: Chris Webster. Nervous about the idea that something important had occurred (particularly in light of their near-death experience), Thomas noted the ‘him’ in the note.</p><p>Which ‘him’ did it refer to?</p><p>Folding the note back up and sticking it in his jacket pocket, Thomas left his office at once on a hunt for Richard. He passed by the servant’s hall and noted that Richard wasn’t there. He wasn’t in the boot room either, nor was he in the linen cupboard. He headed upstairs and searched the main floor which he found to be barren save for Lady Grantham who was working on a needle display of a peacock on the bank of a river in her sitting room. This meant that Richard was either in the attics, or on the gallery floor, and given that it wasn’t teatime, yet Thomas had a feeling it was the latter. He headed up the stairs through the green baize door and made a bee line for Lord Grantham’s dressing room. He found the door closed and knocked to hear Lord Grantham call out “Come in!”.</p><p>Thomas opened the door, and sure enough found Richard tending to Lord Grantham who was changing out of a jacket that was covered in dog hair. The offending party was lollygagging on the bed, taking a nap after a vigorous walk around the estate.</p><p>“Barrow?” Lord Grantham was taken aback.</p><p>“Forgive me, M’lord,” he dipped his head in greeting. “Mr. Ellis, when you have a moment, I need to speak with you.”</p><p>“Certainly, Mr. Barrow.” Richard was as cool as you please, carefully pulling stray dog hairs off of Lord Grantham’s smoking jacket.</p><p>Thomas made to leave but was brought to a pause by Lord Grantham who called out to him. “Barrow! How is Mr. Mason’s daughter in law… the kitchen maid, I forget the girl’s name.” He paused, tutting to himself in his old age. “What was it… Lily? I know it’s a flower.”</p><p>“Daisy, M’lord,” Thomas corrected him. Christ, the girl had cooked him meals since 1914 and he couldn’t remember her damn name?</p><p>“Daisy,” Lord Grantham snapped his fingers, perhaps mentally noting to remember that. “I have so many women in my life named after flowers sometimes it runs together. I suppose I’m hosting a proverbial garden. How is she.”</p><p>He would not beat around the bush. Leaning a bit on the doorframe, Thomas admitted, “From what I understand, poorly M’lord.”</p><p>“Poor child,” He murmured. He handed Richard over a pair of silver cufflinks, swapping them out for gold ones. Clearly, he liked them better. “Send her my regards. Tell her if she wishes for a few days off, she may have them.”</p><p>“Thank you, M’lord,” Thomas said. “I will. Mr. Ellis, find me in my office when your done.” He closed the door to Lord Grantham’s dressing room, exhausted by the whole encounter. The longer he worked for the family, the more he mildly hated them. If only he could be free, able to live a life of his own choosing.</p><p>But he’d spent his lifetime in service and knew there was no escape.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Annoyed by the lazy lifestyle of his master, Thomas returned to his office and stewed there fore another fifteen minutes reading Christopher’s note. He had to wonder just how on earth the man had managed to slip a note into the post. Was this the work of the double agent working for Coyle, and if so could it be one of the staff? Maybe it was one of the gardeners? They’d taken on two new chaps over the summer… nervous, Thomas’ leg jittered beneath the desk.</p><p>He felt like he was in a room with a lion that he could not see.</p><p>At a quarter till four, Richard returned to his office. He held Lord Grantham’s abused jacket over his arm; it would clearly take more than a bit of plucking to get rid of the dog hair.</p><p>“Everything alright?” Richard asked. Thomas handed him over the note. He took it and read it, using the light from Thomas’ lamp to aid his eyes.</p><p>“…. C. W….” Richard looked up, meeting Thomas’ eyes.</p><p>“Chris Webster,” there could be no denying the facts.</p><p>“Figures,” Richard sighed, folding the note, and handing it back over for Thomas to take. “You know the pond?”</p><p>“Yeah,” it was, after all, the largest lake in the area. During the winter, however, no one frequented the shoreline save for deer in need of a drink. It was far too cold to swim, with snow still on the ground. “Not far from here. About a mile on foot.”</p><p>“Who’s the ‘him’ he refers to?” he relaxed into Thomas’ guest chair, setting the hairy jacket upon Thomas’ desk to free up his hands.</p><p>“I dunno,” that was the real question wasn’t it. “I think maybe you. I’m unsure, and I wanted to ask. That’s why I came upstairs.”</p><p>“Well… make sure to get me anyways. I need to know about things like this,” Richard said. “It’s disturbing, I don’t like him writing to you. You’re liable to get called in by the police.”</p><p>“If they can trace it back,” and that was a noticeably big if with no postage and no address.</p><p>“Speaking of ‘him’,” Richard put mock quotations around the word.</p><p>“…Carson… Bates… Andrew… Branson… Lord Grantham?”</p><p>“No, it’s me,” Richard agreed. “It has to be me. Why the hell would he want anyone else?”</p><p>“Why the hell does he want you to begin with?” Thomas asked. “You have no business with each other.”</p><p>“Oh, we do,” Richard snorted. “I assure you; we absolutely do. We ought to go armed. I’ll take a gun. I have my old service revolver from when I was in the regiment. I’ll bring that.”</p><p>“Now whose being circumspect?” Thomas asked, because walking around with a gun in your pocket was far from facile.</p><p>Richard grinned, shrugging off the concerns. “I know what I’m about. Let’s meet down here around 11:15?”</p><p>But Thomas had a better idea. “Let’s not even go up. Just wait for the others to go to bed.”</p><p>“Sounds like a plan,” he agreed. “But you’ll need to change into a day suit, you can’t go running around in the woods with a livery on.”</p><p>“No, no, I will,” Thomas assured him. He stood up, and Richard followed suit. “Let’s get back to it. We have a plan; we’ll see what he wants.”</p><p>“Guarantee it’s nothing good.”</p><p>And unfortunately, Thomas had to agree.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>That night, after the family was served their dinner, Thomas headed up to his room instead of downstairs to change out of his livery into a day suit. He did it under the guise of needing his livery cleaned.  In truth, what Thomas really needed to do was prepare for his trip down to the Miller’s Pond at midnight.</p><p>… And also…</p><p>He unwrapped his parcel with care, to find that inside the gold tube of lipstick had come in a fancy red leather pouch. He unsnapped the clasp and opened the tube to reveal the shade was a lovely deep crimson. It was the sort of thing Lady Mary might wear when going out. It took him a moment to figure out how to get the damnable thing to go up, and finally twisted the tube with a mild noise of delight so that he could see the lipstick in its full entirety.</p><p>He glanced at his locked bedroom door, then at his mirror which sat propped upon a chest of drawers.</p><p>It felt oddly sexual, to scale the lipstick back to a sizable amount before carefully putting it to his lips.</p><p>He didn’t know what he was doing, and so painted the color on his lips like an artist might paint a feature upon canvas. He kept smoothing his lips, puckering them like he’d seen women do in nickelodeons. By the time that he was finished, his lips were a brilliant shade of red far beyond their normal rosy tint. On a woman, it would look flattering. On him, it looked…. Well….</p><p>“… I look like a tarte,” He whispered, carefully turning his head from side to side to see how his lips looked. This was, by far, the strangest thing he’d ever done. He pulled out a piece of paper from his stationary and set it upon the top of the drawers so that the surface was flat. With the paper before him, Thomas tried not to feel like a prat and pressed his lips down. When he pulled back, however, it looked less like a kiss and more like an Eton mess.</p><p>Irritated, he crumpled up the paper and tried again, but ended up accidentally smudging the mark with his thumb.</p><p>Third time was the charm. He re-applied fresh lipstick, held the paper like it were Richard’s face, and pressed a soft kiss to the center. He pulled back and observed the mark to nod with satisfaction.</p><p>Much better, much more up to his standards.</p><p>He put the tube of lipstick away, and quickly wiped his mouth clean with a handkerchief. There was a slight stain, so he kept scrubbing until he was entirely satisfied that no one would know what he’d done. Following Baxter’s advice, he dabbed a careful bit of cologne onto the paper, noting that the stain evaporated almost instantly.</p><p>He was starting to get excited. He couldn’t wait till Richard got a load of this! Oh, he’d get snogged for sure; he felt ten years younger in that moment, carefully folding his note up and heading out of his room to glance left and right down the hall.</p><p>It was barren.</p><p>He headed right, to Richard’s room which was just next door. He knocked, cautious of Richard being inside, but no one answered.</p><p>Hesitant, Thomas poked his head inside. The coast was clear. He let himself in and once and shut the door lest he be discovered. Alone in Richard’s room, he now had time to adjust himself and regain his nerve.</p><p>It felt intrusive and yet oddly sensual, to see the bed where Richard slept. On his side table sat a book he’d been reading (<em>“Yorkshire Wit and Customs”) </em>along with a bag of buttons that were clearly meant to be more surprises for Thomas. He dared not look at it, not wanting to spoil the interaction for himself. Instead, he slipped the note containing his kiss beneath Richard’s pillow, then returned to the door to stare meekly at the rest of the room.</p><p>On Richard’s bedside table, there was a picture of a man and a woman with a boy between them. The lad looked to be no more than five, and was in a hand sewn sailor suit which he was overly smug about.</p><p>It hit Thomas with a jolt to realize the little boy was Richard, and that the people beside him must be his parents.</p><p>Richard’s mother was pretty but not beautiful, with a jaw line too square and a mouth too firm. His father was portly, with a belly that extended out and a full beard. Richard, between them, was clearly their pride and joy. He was even holding a toy sailboat which he’d surely demanded for the event.</p><p> </p><p>Thomas left, feeling like he’d seen too much by staring at the picture of Richard’s family. He closed the door quietly behind him and headed downstairs.</p><p> </p><p>The smells of Yorkshire puddings and jackets crozzled with butter met Thomas halfway down the last flight of stairs. He found the kitchens to be subdued, with only Mrs. Patmore aided by Gertie instead of Daisy. As a matter of fact, that night while they ate dinner, Daisy did not appear at all. Thomas kept looking for her and wondering where she was; down at the far end of the table, Andy was chewing at his fingernail nervously. Across from him, O’Brien said nothing and kept her eyes down.</p><p>Next to Thomas, Richard sat blissfully unaware of what was waiting for him underneath his bedroom pillow. Thomas jittered a bit when he felt Richard’s foot nudging his own.</p><p> </p><p>After dinner that night, Thomas and Richard waited patiently in the servant’s hall playing a game of cards while the other servants piddled about. Andy retired early, looking worse for wear, and Anna continued to crochet a blanket for her upcoming baby. Baxter and Moseley kept to their own corner, whispering about something or the other. O’Brien watched everything from the back of the room, smoking until 10:30 when she finally drifted upstairs. Richard and Thomas were now on their fifth game of cards, and were betting with matchsticks from a box on the mantle. Richard so far had cleaned Thomas out so that he was now down to ten matchsticks while Richard gloated around forty. Either he’d have to bluff his way to an equal footing, or he was about to sorely lose.</p><p>11:00 rolled around, and finally Mrs. Patmore was the last person to go up to bed. She looked miersalbe, plodding about the kitchen without any true direction. Thomas and Richard glanced at one another, then at the clock on the mantel, and made their way silently to the kitchen where Mrs. Patmore was slowly wiping down an already clean counter with a damp tea towel.</p><p>“It’s time for bed, Mrs. Patmore,” Thomas said. She looked about, surprised to hear his voice.</p><p>“oh…” She folded the tea towel over a bar across the radiator, and began to untie her apron. She hung it over a hook by the door, “Will you take care of the rest?”</p><p>“Course,” Thomas said. “Lord Grantham wanted me to tell you, if Daisy needs a few days off, let her take them.”</p><p>“She’ll appreciate that,” Mrs. Patmore was grateful. “She’s outside. Will you go tell her to come in and go to bed?”</p><p>“We will,” Richard said.</p><p>“Then I’ll say goodnight.” Mrs. Patmore shut off the light to the kitchen and began her ascent up the stairs. She looked a little more aged in her walk, clearly weighted down by the state of affairs.</p><p>Thomas and Richard watched her go, then headed for the backdoor. They grabbed their coats and their hats, donning them along with Thomas’ set of master keys. As they exited into the area yard, they found Daisy sure enough sitting upon the workbench. It seemed that she’d been here all night, and as a result had missed her dinner.</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes were dead, her expression blank. She was lost within her own world, unable to pull herself free. Thomas knew what it felt like, to be miserable. To feel like you had nothing to live for.</p><p> </p><p>“… Daisy,” Thomas approached her. She did not look at him. He spoke a little louder, coming all the way around the table so that he stood directly in front of her. Still, she stared at the ground.</p><p>“Daisy, Lord Grantham spoke to me. He wants you to take a few days off. I’ve cleared it with Mrs. Patmore, so we’ll have no if and’s or buts about it.”</p><p>Daisy just gave a tiny shrug, the only indication that she was truly listening.</p><p>“What are you going to do about the farm?” He asked. “Do you have any ideas?”</p><p>“Sell it,” She mumbled.</p><p>“Why?” He asked. “You could keep it an’ run it easily… your future was never meant to be here.”</p><p>She just twisted at the hem of her apron, perhaps not truly listening to him. “We’ll find a solution.” He said.</p><p>She rose up from the bench, seemingly annoyed with his presence. “Yes you always seem to have one up your sleeve.”</p><p>She headed for the door, but the tone in which she’d spoken and the jerk in her gate made Thomas feel compelled to call out to her. Somehow, he was pulled beyond his own understanding, even though he felt like a fool as he did it.</p><p>“Daisy!” She stopped, then turned to look at him.</p><p>“… I’m sorry,” he said. “He was asking for something when he passed. I think it was probably you. He did want to speak with you, honest.”</p><p>“So why did he talk to you?” She asked. He could sense the anger hiding just beneath the threshold of her grief. “Why did he waste his last moments with someone he didn’t even like? Someone who didn’t even respect him? He deserved more than tha’.”</p><p>And he supposed he could take it as an insult, but her grief was obvious and so she was granted a slight reprieve.</p><p>“… I agree,” Thomas said. Daisy seemed unnerved by the concept. “But he was a good man, and he wanted to help me on something that…” he paused, unsure of how to word what needed to be said. “Something that only he could help with.”</p><p>“… Why him?”</p><p>“Because he was a father,” Thomas said.</p><p>For a moment, Daisy was silent. She scuffed a bit at the stone under her feet, slightly sheepish in the wake of Thomas’ explanation.</p><p>“I used to be soft on you, you know tha’?” She mumbled, looking up at him.</p><p>“Yes,” Thomas said. “I remember.”</p><p>“You treated me like a dog,” Daisy’s words stung, frankly because they were true.</p><p>He didn’t know what to say to that. He supposed, in lieu of Mason’s death, all the old wounds were opening up.</p><p>“William was the better man,” Daisy finally said. “But I didn’t want to marry him. I didn’t want to be friendly with his father either. I wanted independence, but I never got it.”</p><p>“Then go and get it,” Thomas offered. “Keep the farm, become a farmer, do whatever you like…. Your life is yours to live.”</p><p>And he supposed it was all the advice he could give her. He imagined, if Mr. Mason was alive, he’d have said much the same thing.</p><p>Daisy turned away and headed for the door. It seemed neither of them garnered a ‘goodnight’ from her.</p><p>“Poor thing,” Richard wondered at her retreating back.</p><p>“She didn’t deserve this,” He agreed. “She loved him like a father, you know.”</p><p>For a moment they were silent, with Richard looking at his watch. The hands marked 11:14, which was just a good a time as any to start their trek.</p><p>“Now?” He asked Thomas.</p><p>“Now.”</p><p> </p><p>They set out, the pair of them side by side on their promenade through the dark. They were a proud pair, cutting a striking silhouette against the moonlight as they entered the forest. Richard pulled out a gun from his pocket, clearly his service revolver, and checked the rounds just to make sure all was correct and tidy.</p><p>“Been a while since I’ve handled one of these,” Richard did not speak above a hush; as they walked, they tried to avoid stepping on dry leaves or fallen twigs. It proved to be a difficult task, what with the late winter foliage. “Do you still have your service revolver?”</p><p>Indeed, he had until last year when he’d decided to give it back. After his suicide attempt, Thomas did not trust himself to use the gun for nefarious reasons. “I gave it back last year.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Didn’t want it anymore. Didn’t like having it,” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. Richard sensed his apprehension.</p><p>“Bother you a bit?”</p><p>“A bit.”</p><p>“No worries,” Richard smiled, “Hopefully we won’t even need it.”</p><p>It was nice, to walk with him like this even if he was carrying a gun and there were murders in the woods. In a way it felt like a date, which was rather pathetic. Thomas shucked his hands in his pockets, his gate rather slow.</p><p>“Shame to waste such a good night on an errand like this,” Thomas mused.</p><p>“Mmm,” clearly Richard agreed. “Don’t have to waste it if we don’t want to.”</p><p>He eyed him, wondering what he was thinking of. Richard tutted, amused. “Not that, you goose.” They laughed, the pair of them amused with their antics. “Let’s get this over and done with, see if we can’t spend a bit more time to ourselves. Perhaps we can pick up where we left off the other day.”</p><p>“You’re going to be the death of me,” Thomas was giddy, a spring now in his step. They reached a clearing in the woods which lead to a more consistent trail and the rim of the Miller’s Pond. It was so dark that Thomas could barely see the outline of the lake glistening in the moon. There, at the docks, he just saw the slim outline of another person. From such a distance, though, it could also have been a thin tree.</p><p>Richard paused, his gun in his hand. He leaned in, his lips close to Thomas’ ear so that his flesh began to goose pimple. “That him?”</p><p>“I think so,” Thomas whispered back. “Stay here and I’ll make sure the coast is clear.”</p><p>Richard scoffed, taking Thomas by the elbow as he stepped forward. He looked back, curious. “I don’t think so, Mr. Hot Shot. I’m going with you. What we do, we do together.”</p><p>Well, if that wasn’t a heart warming statement, he didn’t know what was.</p><p>Together, Thomas and Richard walked down the path towards the docks of the Miller’s Pond. At one point in time, perhaps a hundred years ago, this place would have been packed with washer women and children bathing. Now, industry had dried up, and people no longer went to the mill to have their grain and coffee ground. Instead, they went into the village and bought it directly from the grocers. As a result, the docks were in a state of disrepair, and a few planks had fallen into the water.</p><p>At the far end of the dock, smoking a cigarette and staring into the icy lake, was Christopher.</p><p> </p><p>He looked, in a word, awful. Clearly something had happened to distress him. His eyes were bloodshot, as if he’d been weeping, and there was a slight tremor to his hands. He was pondering, and Thomas wondered if he could sense the pair of them walking up. He glanced at Richard, and noted he was scowling.</p><p>Slightly nervous that an argument might break out, Thomas was the first to break the ice and try to set the tone for the conversation.</p><p>“I got your note,” he said. Christopher glanced around and cast his cigarette into the lake with a light hiss of ember on water.</p><p>“You alright?” He asked, gentle.</p><p>“I’m not the one that got shot,” he said.</p><p>Christopher nodded, and he had the decency to look ashamed of his behavior from that awful night. “I told the others to scram after the hit, but a few had already taken off after you. I had to save face with Coyle, otherwise I’d have stopped them. I’m not proud of it. They didn’t hurt you, did they?” He asked.</p><p>“No,” Thomas said. “They tried though. One nearly shot me.”</p><p>“Yeah, Jennings, I heard,” Christopher said. “He was a Muppet an’ he got what he deserved. He’s dead now. Died of his injuries last night. Internal bleeding or summate… I’m damn glad all turned out well. I was terrified they’d kill you if they got you.”</p><p>But all had not turned out well, Albert Mason was dead for practically no reason.</p><p>“A man died, Christopher,” the words were ground out of his mouth through a clenched jaw. “An incredibly good man, who did not deserve to go.”</p><p>“The old one, I saw,” Christopher agreed. “An’ I’m sorry for it… truly I am. They’re a rough crowd, they make gambles an’ other people get hurt for it. To be fair though, he was going to shoot Coyle. So… tit for tat.”</p><p>But before they could discuss the morality of a man shooting another, Christopher turned his attentions to Richard. His smile, which before had been genial, turned downright sinister.</p><p>“So, this him…” He mused. “The <em>momma’s boy </em>you’re so fond of?” He licked his top teeth, tongue playing with the ridge of bone.</p><p>Richard tilted his head, eyes narrowed quizzically. “Momma’s boy,” He repeated dully.</p><p>“Well…” Christopher sneered; hands shucked in pant’s pockets. “Leave a pretty thing like that cold on a bench while you go visit your mother, an’ your bound to pick up a few names.”</p><p>Richard shifted his stance; Thomas noted his shoulders were becoming more tense.</p><p>His heart started to beat a little faster, he didn’t want an argument if he could avoid it.</p><p>“I didn’t leave him cold anywhere,” Richard replied, though his tone was certainly cold now. “I was coming, sure enough. Last time I checked; you were the one that lead him into danger.”</p><p>“I lead him into a good time first.”</p><p>“And then to a police station,” Richard summed up, unimpressed.</p><p>“More action than you were willing to give,” but Richard’s patience was starting to draw thin. Like before with Andy, it seemed that he did not like being riled up.</p><p>“You don’t know what I’m willing to give,” He snapped.</p><p>“Boys,” Thomas cut across them both, forcing them into silence. They stiffened, the pair of them seeming to realize that he was still standing there and unimpressed by their griping. Thomas gave Richard a look of warning, before returning to Christopher.</p><p>“So why did you summon us here tonight, Christopher?” He asked. “I’m assuming you’ve discovered something?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Christopher pulled out another cigarette to fiddle with it but did not light it. “I know who the agent is, the one Coyle brought in for your friend.”</p><p>“You do?” Oh, happy days indeed! A break like this was just what Thomas needed. As soon as they knew who the agent was, they could destroy them and secure Baxter’s safety. She was as good as free at this point (at least, aside from Coyle).</p><p>“Took a bit of digging, but yeah,” Christopher coughed; it seemed he had a tickle in his throat. “I figured it out. Reason Coyle’s so tight on it?” He paused to light his cigarette, sucking in a breath. “It’s not just some random grifter. It’s a professional whose just as bad as him. Even worse I’d say because she seems sane.” He breathed out a long column of smoke. “Some woman he’s nicknamed India. Apparently, she’s as dangerous as they come. She’s here with one express mission… to get Petal out of the abbey where she’s safe and into a position where Coyle can abduct her and eventually kill her.”</p><p>The word ‘eventually’ made Thomas’ blood go cold.</p><p>“… Phyllis…” The name fell unbidden from his lips. He looked to Richard afraid, but Richard was strong and steady in that moment if not a little distrusting.</p><p>“How the hell do we know we can trust you?” He demanded. “What do you get out of telling us all this? How do we know that Coyle isn’t feet from us, waiting to jump out of the woods to skin us alive?”</p><p>Christopher laughed, but none of those was even remotely funny. He blew out another column of smoke. “I can’t help you, little boy… but Thomas? He’s as safe as can be. He’s under my protection.”</p><p>“And why is that?” Richard asked.</p><p>“Why do you think?”</p><p>“You seem to imagine he’s single,” Richard slowly, menacingly, began to walk forward step by step. Unnerved, Thomas watched as Christopher did the same. Inch by inch they were getting closer to one another, and soon they would be pressed chest to chest.</p><p>A fight would break out if they weren’t careful.</p><p>“Is he not?” Christopher challenged. “I could have sworn you were too busy kissing up to your mummy to save any time for kissing him.”</p><p>“Keep my mouth out of your feckin’ mouth,” Richard cursed.</p><p>“There we go again,” Christopher taunted, “Always so concerned about her, but where does that leave him? That’s what I want to know.”</p><p>“I should imagine the things you want to know fill a great deal of books, which is why I read.”</p><p>“Entitled much, little boy? You sure do talk big for a man who can’t get his dick wet.”</p><p>“I think you’ve got a sense of entitlement that’s going to get you into a who heap of trouble-“</p><p>“You wouldn’t know trouble if it bit you on the ass.”</p><p>“You offering?!”</p><p>“Boys!” Thomas shouted, shoving himself in-between them to force them several feet apart. They’d been almost inches from one another, their voices getting louder in their heated discussion. Christ, were they thick!? Any minute now, someone was going to discover them, and they’d all be in the shit.</p><p>“For heaven’s sake,” Thomas hissed. “Think about where we are and what we’re doing! We can’t be getting into fights in the middle of a field, where anyone could see. Think of the danger you’re putting yourselves in.”  </p><p> </p><p>Christopher shoved himself back from Richard, whipping out a natty comb from his pocket to carefully re-sculpt his hair. It was a soothing action, and one meant to give himself a chance to calm down.</p><p>Trying to tactfully change the subject, Thomas said, “Can you tell us more about India, please?”</p><p>Christopher took a shaky breath, still too angry to speak properly. “Apparently… an’ I only know this because I’ve got connections outside of Coyle who can correlate… this agent an’ him are not familiar with one another. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get Petal out of the abbey. Too watertight, an’ he’s wanted. So, he’s using people in the village that look normal enough. That aren’t wanted by the law. He started sending word out to other criminals, back an’ forth. He finally got hold of her.  She fit the bill. Normal looking but fucking lethal. So, look for new people in town. New women.”</p><p>“Do you know India’s name?” Thomas asked. Christopher shook his head. He now looked out over the lake, perhaps too angry to stare Richard in the face.</p><p>“No, we don’t share that kind of information, love. But I’ve seen her… she met with Coyle recently and I got a good look at her from a window. She’s got gray hair in a bob… older woman, probably in her late fifties, I’d say. Maybe early sixties. Brown eyes… smoked the whole time she was there. She’s got a way to contact him by phone, she was the one who let him know that Petal would be on the road that night. It was a last-minute move, but she saw it happen so she made the call. That’s why I almost wasn’t there.”</p><p>But the more that Christopher spoke, the more that tokens started to drop into place.</p><p>Normal looking, but lethal.</p><p>Gray hair in a bob, with brown eyes.</p><p>An older woman that smoked like a chimney.</p><p> </p><p>And suddenly, with the force of a train, a realization slammed into Thomas and nearly knocked him out flat.</p><p>The reason that Coyle had known they were traveling by wagonette, and that Baxter would be on it, was because when the decision was made the agent had been in the room watching… and had been able to telephone him.</p><p>And the only person who was in the room that fit that description… was Sarah O’Brien.</p><p>“Oh my god…” with trembling hands Thomas reached up to hide his mouth. A shaky breath slipped through his fingers, his pulse hammering at his neck and wrist. Both Christopher and Richard looked at him, unsure.</p><p>“Oh my god,” He said again, a sickening sense of dread filling him. “I know who the agent is.” He looked at Richard, horrified.</p><p>“Rich, think about it,” he begged. “Older woman, gray hair in a bob, brown eyes, smokes, lethal, an she saw the move that night? She made the call? Richard, she was in the room when we decided to go by wagonette!”</p><p>The blood left Richard’s face, so that he was ashen in the moonlight.</p><p>“…Fuck me,” He whispered, rubbing tenderly at his jaw. The pair of them were staggered, each gasping at the other. “Fuck me!”</p><p>“So you know her,” Christopher said.</p><p>“Yes, we know her,” Thomas moaned. “She works in the abbey with us!”</p><p>“Aha… the fox is in the hen house!” this seemed to make a great deal of sense to Christopher. “That sounds about right, Coyle said his agent was in deep. I assumed it was someone trading, not someone working… So who is she?”</p><p>“Sarah O’Brien…” The name was hoarse upon his lips. “How could she… How could she do this?” He looked now to Richard. “After all the years she’d spent workin’ with us-“</p><p>“But you said yourself that she hates you,” Richard advised. “Christ Thomas, think of how she’s been acting. She’s a bitch to everyone, an’ now we know why. She’s not here to make friends and settle down… she’s here on a job, and as soon as she finishes, she’ll scamper.”</p><p>“Oh dear…” Christopher drawled, looking far too pleased with this turn of events. “Looks like you’ll be needing my help after all, over this…” He gestured to Richard unpleasantly, “limp noodle.”</p><p>The euphemism did not go unnoticed by either man. Richard’s notorious temper popped again, furious at being prodded when he was already in a foul mood.</p><p>“I have half a mind to shoot you,” he declared. Taking it as a challenge, Christopher pulled out a revolver from his trouser pocket and pointed it directly at Richard’s temple.</p><p>Thomas let out an involuntary cry of shock, horrified as Richard pointed his own gun at Christopher-!</p><p>It was too much, too soon, and too awfully close to what had happened the other day with Mason. Furious at the pair of them, Thomas physically interjected himself so that the barrels of both guns were touching him. To fire at the other, they would have to pass through his flesh. He faced neither man, hands up in a clear sign of both sides.</p><p>“Stop it!” He shouted at them, furious. “How dare you make light of something so horrible?! Haven’t enough people died already?! We have more important things to worry about!”</p><p>“I don’t,” Christopher disagreed. He had not dropped his gun.</p><p>“Neither do I,” Richard agreed, his aim never wavering.</p><p>“Hey, look at tha’,” Christopher’s grin might have been warming if the tone hadn’t been so deadly. “We just agreed on somethin’.”</p><p>“I should imagine we’d agree on plenty of things where Thomas is concerned,” Richard said.</p><p>“Pity you won’t do anything about it.”</p><p>“Watch me, I might surprise you,”</p><p>And there was something in the way that he said it which made Thomas wonder if Christopher was truly the more dangerous of the pair of them. So far, he’d killed six people and had run in league with a psychopath, but what was Richard capable of. If pressed, could he kill? If asked, could he do worse? There was something chilling about the depths of anger in an easygoing man.</p><p>Suddenly Thomas wished that he were the one holding the gun instead of Richard. He didn’t know if his heart could take it, should a gunfight result.</p><p>“I am not a prize to be won!” Thomas begged them. “Stop behaving like this, you’re acting like children over a toy!”</p><p>“You’re not a toy,” Christopher argued, “But you are the loveliest person I’ve ever met and I’ll be damned if I go down without a fight for you. I’m certainly more invested in you than this idiot is!”</p><p>“Invested?!” For whatever reason, this seemed to upset Richard more than the idea of Thomas being a toy. It certainly was a peculiar way to look at a human relationship.</p><p>“You abandoned him to go have tea with your mummy!” Christopher snapped.</p><p>“I left a job in Buckingham Palace for him!” Richard was growing red in the face, furious at Christopher’s inability to back down. Maybe in some circles, the idea of leaving such a prestigious job for a romance would be the end-all of the argument. Unfortunately for Richard, however, Christopher was not impressed by legal means.</p><p>“I broke out of prison and killed six men for him,” He said in a rush, growing angrier by the minute with his gun still pointed at Richard’s face. “An’ if you keep testin’ me, I’ll make it seven! I want him more than you do, I fit him better than you! You’re jumped up on a pedestal, you can’t understand him the way that I do! So, stay out of my sodding way unless you want to become the next man to die for our love!”</p><p>Richard dropped his gun, and for a moment Thomas was shunted about as he pushed physically past him to square up nose to nose with Christopher. They were beyond the ability of stopping a fight now. They probably weren’t going to shoot each other, but by god if they weren’t going to make the other bleed!</p><p>“You’re a thief and a murderer,” Richard spat, forehead pressed flat against Christopher’s own so that they were seething at each other. “I don’t have to kill innocent men to prove that I love him. I show him that by my actions every day at his side. You think you love him, but you’re just a dog chasing a motorcar. You wouldn’t know what to do with it if you caught it. I love him, you just want him, an’ I’m not going to shrivel up and blow away just because you’re a spoiled child with an ego trip.”</p><p>“Ego trip!?”</p><p>“Did I stutter?”</p><p>“No! Let me amend that!” And with all the strength he could muster, Christopher leaned back and head-butted Richard as hard as he could right against the nose. Just at the last second, Richard managed to duck so that his nose wasn’t broken, but he almost certainly would have a lump on his head come morning.</p><p>The pair of them crashed to the rotten dock and rolled into the water fighting. Kicking, punching, cursing, and screaming, they wriggled like fish upon the frozen filthy embankment, each trying to beat the life out of the other. Thomas shouted at them to stop but neither was listening, each too incensed by the idea of getting the upper hand.</p><p>“Stop it!” Thomas dropped to his knees, struggling to tear them apart from each other. Richard sucker punched Christopher hard in the mouth, a move which would have sent any other man flying. But Christopher had been taught at the school of hard knocks, and so the punch slid right off him to be returned in kind. Thomas saw a bit of blood fly out of the corner of Richard’s mouth.</p><p>“STOP IT!” He screamed at the top of his lungs. Throwing all caution to the wind, he physically shoved himself in between the pair of them, so that they could not hit or kick the other without first damaging Thomas. Finally, able to pause the fight, Thomas grabbed Richard and drug him bodily away upon the ground, causing grooves to appear in the earth from their tangled heels. Christopher was left panting on the embankment, staggering back to his feet with a black eye and a torn shirt collar. Richard was bleeding from a small cut at the edge of his mouth, and there was a mark on his forehead from where Christopher had headbutted him. The pair of them were soaking wet, dripping, and shivering in the night air.</p><p>Thomas refused to let Richard get any closer to Christopher, holding him rooted to the spot with all the strength he could muster.</p><p>“Look—stop!” He shoved Richard back, so that now the pair of them were a good several feet apart.</p><p>“Stop… an’ listen to me, “Thomas panted, hands up in peace offering. “If you love me, you’ll listen to me.”</p><p>Both men were silent, save for their panting. In the far-off distance, Thomas could hear the baying of a bloodhound.</p><p>“You can both have me, if it’ll keep you happy,” Thomas protested. “Our love isn’t normal; we all know that. It doesn’t have to be simple. You can both have me, an’ I’ll make it work somehow. Just please don’t tear each other apart-“</p><p>“You’re not a sandwich to be split,” Richard spat. The idea of it seemed to infuriate him.</p><p>“An’ I don’t like sharing,” Christopher panted.</p><p>“Well—” Thomas stuttered, looking back and forth between the two men. “Well I don’t know what to bloody well tell you, do I?!”</p><p>But Thomas did know what to tell him; he just couldn’t summon up the courage to say it. After learning that Christopher had murdered six policemen, he’d always known. He just felt like a prat for saying it, because he couldn’t say what he would have done in the same situation. Moseley had been able to forgive Baxter for stealing, but it seemed that Thomas could not look past Christopher’s willingness to shed human life.</p><p>“Tell me that you’ll throw him off!” Christopher said. “And come away with me!”</p><p>Richard made an ugly noise under his breath, annoyed by the mere concept. “Pull your head out of the clouds, we have jobs. We can’t just pack up and run away because we feel like it.”</p><p>And there it was again, Christopher’s ability to shuck everything and run… Thomas didn’t share that. He liked Christopher as a friend, but that was where the emotion stopped.</p><p>“I can’t,” Thomas said.</p><p>“Yes, you can!” Christopher was getting desperate. He threw all caution to the wind, abandoning his spat with Richard to instead grab Thomas by the hands and pull him close.</p><p>“Hey-!” Richard shouted angrily. “Let him go!”</p><p>“Listen to me, please,” Christopher urged. “Those people at that big house, they don’t understand you. They don’t even like you, you told me as such. The butler treats you like dirt. And maybe you like this man, but he doesn’t understand you like I do. He likes to act like he’s normal, but he isn’t.”</p><p>Thomas recalled the night he’d walked home with Richard, even while Christopher had sat in a police cell waiting to be processed and booked. <em>“Just two normal blokes having a chat, not trying to fit in for once.” </em></p><p>“So, stop trying to pretend that you are too!” Christopher said. His eyes were wide and imploring, full of hope. “Come with me, t’night, and we can make a break from Coyle. I’ll find a way to get us to safety-“</p><p>Thomas thought of Baxter, and how much she relied on him now adays to keep her sane. <em>“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Thomas. You’ve been keeping my head above water with Coyle.”</em></p><p> </p><p>Thomas pulled his hands out of Christopher’s grasp, his decision firmly made.</p><p>“… I’m sorry, Christopher,” Thomas said. Christopher’s hopeful expression slowly began to fall into misery with every word Thomas spoke. “I am a normal man, and Richard has helped remind me just how much. Maybe I’m not treated like a prince, but there are people who care for me at that house, and I can’t leave my friend to suffer under Coyle’s thumb. Maybe no one understands me. Maybe I’m not meant to be understood. But… I would rather be the man I am with Richard, than anyone else.”</p><p>Christopher looked ready to cry.</p><p>“… Why?” He asked. “Why him and not me?”</p><p><em>Because I love him, </em>Thomas thought. He bowed his head, embarrassed.</p><p>“… I love him,” Thomas admitted, his cheeks flushed pink. Christopher made a noise like a wounded animal, “And I can’t pretend otherwise just to make you happy. You deserve better than that. I like you as a friend, I truly do. I like you a lot. But I love him, even if he doesn’t love me.”</p><p>Silence fell, both embarrassing and thick. Richard shuffled his feet, rubbing at the back of his neck. The baying of the dog was getting closer.</p><p>Humiliated, Christopher had to take a moment to regain his nerve before finally replying, “An’ do you love him?”</p><p>It was a surprising thing to ask someone you’d just pounded into the mud.</p><p>Richard did not look happy to be questioned by someone he disliked, particularly on such a sore subject. But before he could answer, the dog bayed again, and they heard a man shout out:</p><p>“Whose there?! Show yourself!”</p><p>Realizing they were minutes away from being caught out, Richard grabbed Thomas by the hand and pulled him forcibly away from Christopher. As Thomas staggered back, a tear or two slipped out of Christopher’s swollen eyes, falling down bruised cheeks apprehended.</p><p>“We need to go,” Richard said. “Someone’s coming.”</p><p>Yet even as he pulled Thomas along back towards the underbrush, Richard paused and glanced back at Christopher.</p><p> </p><p>He’d not moved, still frozen in place from rejection and humiliation.</p><p>“… Get out of here,” Richard said. “They catch you; you’re ruined.”</p><p> </p><p>Thomas looked over his shoulder as Richard pulled him back into the woods towards the abbey.</p><p>Christopher had not moved, a lonely figure on a ruined dock.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The trek back home was at a sharper pace than the one to the pond. Though they heard the baying of the dog several times more, they never ran into the pooch or its owner. Thomas supposed, as they reached the abbey again, he might have actually heard the groundskeeper making his nightly rounds along the outskirts of the abbey. Christ, what a nightmare that would have been if they’d run into each other. How would Thomas ever explain himself out of that one? As fate would have it, however, they did not run into anybody on their way back.</p><p>But that didn’t make the walk any easier.</p><p>“I should have known,” Thomas felt like such a fool. It was all so obvious when you laid it out plain and bare on the floor.</p><p>“How?” Richard was still riding on an aggressive high from his confrontation with Christopher, and with each step he took his wet shoes made a squelching noise.</p><p>“I should have known!” He said, louder this time in his irritation. “Found her in London, indeed?! All of it was put together. Coyle put her in Lady Grantham’s tracks, I’ll bet you money. Now she’s in the house and she’s going to kill Baxter if I let her! And how the hell will I be able to stop her-“</p><p>They’d reached the edges of the area yard. Instead of allowing Thomas to continue on, Richard seemed to snap from tension. He grabbed Thomas by the hand and pulled him into the same alleyway where they’d kissed before.</p><p>And suddenly, Thomas was squashed up against the brick wall of the garage, with Richard staring down at him with misty eyes.</p><p>He looked a fright, soaking to the skin, muddied up, and bruised. But there was something passionate and even feral in his eyes. When he leaned in, he pressed a solid kiss to Thomas’ lips, leaning his weight into him so that Thomas had little choice but to allow it to happen. It was as if Richard wanted to possess him.</p><p>When they parted, both of them were panting. There was a bit of Thomas’ grime on his cheek from river water.</p><p>“How did I get so lucky?” Richard was mystified, but Thomas couldn’t understand why. This was hardly what he’d call an ideal situation!</p><p>“Lucky?” He demanded, lips still stinging from Richard’s kiss. “You’re in the middle of nowhere with a murderer on the loose and a maniac in the house-“</p><p>“With you,” Richard finished. Thomas stared up at him in wonder, his cheeks filling with heat at the prospect that he was the source of Richard’s luck. “I’m in the middle of nowhere, with a murderer, a maniac… an’ you. I’m so lucky to be with you.”</p><p>“You’re daft.”</p><p>Richard tilted his head, and carefully cupped Thomas’ cheek to wipe away the grime he’d accidentally placed there. Now that they had a moment to themselves, the weight of Thomas’ admission to Christopher was heavy between them. He felt more like a fool for having said it.</p><p>“…. You said you loved me, back there,” Richard whispered.</p><p>“It just slipped out, I’m sorry-“</p><p>“Say it again.”</p><p>Thomas stared at Richard, amazed at his imploring tone.</p><p>He wondered if Richard knew just how much he meant to Thomas. How much he represented in an awful and bitter world. For so many years, Thomas had had nothing but sorrow. No joy, no hope, nothing to truly look forward to. In brief, his life had only slowly climbed from miserable to slightly bearable. Even in his most delirious of dreams, he’d never imagined a love like Richard’s if only because love was not available to him. He’d told himself that the only affection he would find would be in his own dreams… and so to be shown different after years of neglect was a bit like being plopped into the middle of a fairy tale.</p><p>It didn’t seem logical; each breath he breathed, he feared would shatter the illusion of happiness.</p><p>And maybe that was why it was so difficult for him to say ‘I love you’. He was terrified to move for fear of losing everything. If something were to make Richard turn and run, he’d lose his will to live.</p><p>But Richard wasn’t turning and running. He was asking Thomas to say it again…. And his eyes were imploring.  </p><p> </p><p>“… I love you,” Thomas whispered.</p><p>“Again.”</p><p>“I love-“</p><p>But Richard cut him off.</p><p> </p><p>Their faces collided, noses crashing into one another as Richard swept him up into a powerful and consuming kiss. Thomas felt himself mentally detach from the moment, instead floating somewhere above the scene as Richard wrapped his arms tight around Thomas to pick him up slightly at the waist. The verbal confirmation of Thomas’ feelings was a fire starter, pushing them to greater heights. Nothing felt out of their grasp in that moment. They were normal men, and their love was natural. Being with Richard was as easy as breathing, and suddenly Thomas could not imagine a life without his friend.</p><p>There had been a pre-Richard, and a post-Richard. Nothing before him was worth remembering.</p><p> </p><p>“My my, what a scene.”</p><p> </p><p>The sound of O’Brien’s voice panicked Richard, who dropped Thomas painfully onto his heels. They spun about, rattled to find that they were being spied upon. At the mouth of the alleyway, she stood smoking a cigarette with an ugly little smile upon her aged face.</p><p>“Oh don’t let me stop you,” She drawled, blowing out a little column of smoke. “You’re having a right little time of it, aren’t you.”</p><p>Richard let out a little shuddering breath of horror.</p><p>They’d been one-upped and found out. It was their worst nightmare.</p><p> </p><p>Before Christopher’s reveal, Thomas might have been frightened by O’Brien discovering him with Richard. Now, however, he was filled with a righteous fury. He wanted to strike her down, to push her into the very earth itself until the only thing that could be seen of her was a few gray wisps from the top of her head.</p><p>“Lady Grantham found you in London, did she?” He drawled, unable to hide the venom from his voice.</p><p>“That’s right,” O’Brien took another drag of her cigarette.</p><p>“Coyle must have pulled some string to make sure you wound up on the same street at the same time. Did he instruct you to act like a beggar or was that of your own invention?”</p><p>O’Brien choked on the inhale of her cigarette, surprised by the mention of Coyle’s name. When neither Richard nor Thomas retracted the meaning of the statement, she let out a slow exhale and dropped her cigarette to crush it under the heel of her worn boot.</p><p>“… A few,” She agreed. “Nothing he couldn’t manage… but the begging was my idea.”</p><p>“Sure are cocky for a woman whose been discovered,” Thomas spat, “You murderous little rat.”</p><p>“Have I?” O’Brien touched her breast, idly playing with her collar. She didn’t look all that worried, a wicked smile upon her weathered face. “Or have I merely been leveled?”</p><p>She tilted her head, gray bangs swishing upon her forehead. “Because it seems to me, I know your secret too. And now your secret has baggage,” she nodded her head towards Richard, who bristled at the implications.</p><p>A reveal could ruin them both.</p><p>“You know mine; I know yours… we’re square,” She said. And damn it all if she wasn’t right. “You go to the police, so do I. You tell them I’m with Coyle… I tell them you’re with little Dickie. Now tell me that doesn’t sound like poetic justice to you?”</p><p>“Doesn’t sound like poetic anything,” Richard snapped. “You’re the one who called Coyle and told him to set up the roadblock. Admit it.”</p><p>“Gladly,” O’Brien declared. Thomas’ vision flashed white with anger at the memory of Mason bleeding out. A life cut short, and for no fucking reason!</p><p>“But maybe you don’t have an ear for poetry. This has nothing to do with you anyways. This is between me and the girl.”</p><p>“An’ you think I’m going to let you hurt her?” Thomas demanded. “My best friend?!”</p><p>“I don’t think about you <em>period,” </em>O’Brien sneered. If she was hoping that would sting, her insult missed the mark. “You’re nothing. Worthless. Dirt. And if you’re a smart little worm, you’ll stay that way, or I’ll eat your heart out.”</p><p>“You don’t’ scare me,” Thomas said. “I’m not a little boy anymore, O’Brien. You can’t frighten me into silence.”</p><p>“No?”</p><p>She took a step forward, then another, eyes glowering. “… Y’know, one of Coyle’s mates has connections to Briarcliff,” She said. The name put a slight chill through Thomas’ bones. Sensing his trepidation, she continued on. “So you just remember that, little boy… or I’ll pull strings and get the men in white coats to come up here and carry you two off to the looney bin. I’ll take a great deal of satisfaction in watching them jam an ice pick into the corner of your eye. I think a lobotomy would improve your personality tremendously. Or maybe I’ll pull a few more favors and get them to electrocute you.”</p><p>And though she did not know it, Thomas had already suffered under such ministrations. He felt a cold sweat break out on his temples at the thought of being tortured with no release.</p><p>Of Richard being torn from him forever.</p><p>“Let them jam wires up that tight arse of yours,” She said, just to truly rub it in. “Who knows, a shock or two and you might be sweet enough to come to your senses. Maybe Baxter will end up marrying you instead if I haven’t already killed her before then. I don’t know… I’m torn between making her suffer and ending her quickly.”</p><p> </p><p>“You won’t get away with this,” he whispered. He prayed that he did not betray the fear in his voice.</p><p>“Oh I will,” She replied. And with a warning hand she pointed to Richard behind him.” Or I’ll tell the police that your shit’s underneath his fingernails…. Remember that.”</p><p> </p><p>Without another word, she walked back inside, closing the area door quietly behind her. She left Richard and Thomas in a state of horror, each weighted down by the realization that they were trapped.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They were pinned. Like animals in a cage.</p><p> </p><p>Unable to pull himself up from the horror of their newfound situation, Richard excused himself to bed without comment. Thomas was pale, but for whatever reason he didn’t seem as frightened as Richard felt. Maybe he knew more about O’Brien than he did. Maybe there was still a card or two up Thomas’ sleeve that could save them from ruin.</p><p>Exhausted, Richard peeled off his soaking suit, throwing it in a heap at the foot of his bed. It would all have to be washed, and how would he explain it to the maids? He looked at himself in the mirror, wincing at his bruises. Perhaps the best thing to do would be to pretend he fell down the stairs… but the suit? God how would he explain the suit?</p><p>He took a sponge bath in his room, trying to wash as much of the filth out of his hair as possible. All the while he could not help but think about Thomas one room over; every so often he’d glance at the wall and wonder if Thomas were naked on the other side.</p><p>His stiffening erection was beginning to become bothersome. He’d already masturbated several times in the past week; he needed to get a hold of himself before he started getting accusative glances from the maids.</p><p>Falling into bed naked, Richard simply stared up at the ceiling for a moment wishing to god that he could take the night back and re-shape it into something better. He wished he could have broken Christopher’s face in two… he wished O’Brien had gone to bed earlier.</p><p>He wished he could have lain down with Thomas instead of alone, and whispered all the things he treasured about the other man into his ear.</p><p>Groaning in self-disgust, Richard rolled onto his side and began to kick at his covers to get into bed.</p><p>The sound of shuffling paper made him pause.</p><p>Curious, he sat all the way up in bed and began to pull through his covers looking through the source. It was only when he got to his pillows that he found it… a folded up piece of paper.</p><p>He opened it, unsure of what he’d find.</p><p>The sight of scarlet lips drew him to a pause. At first, he was horrified to think that the note might have come from a maid. But then, Richard was hit by the powerful aroma of a spicy yet subtle cologne.</p><p>Thomas’ cologne.</p><p>And just like that a smile melted his face; a laugh bubbled at the back of his throat as he realized whose lips had been painted scarlet, and what this note meant.</p><p><em>"I love you"</em> he'd whispered. Nobody had ever loved him before. </p><p>He'd never been special to anybody before Thomas... and now, he'd never be alone again. </p><p>He pressed the cologne to his nose, smelling deeply. Alone in bed, with the lights turned off, he laid the note on his other pillow and allowed himself to pretend that Thomas was beside him.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Two White Knights</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Faced with the difficult task of taking on an impossible enemy, Thomas decides to strike up an alliance to even the odds. Unexpected news creates more complications in the battle for Phyllis Baxter. O'Brien sets an insidious plan into action.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I am sorry to announce that I have returned to the United States following the collapse of my mental health. My fiancé is still in England, and our future is unclear. At this time, I would ask for your support and good thoughts as I try to figure out my way forward. I apologize for the slight delay in this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The awful reality that O’Brien was in league with Coyle haunted Thomas like a perverse smell all through the day and night. He’d catch sight of her in the servant’s hall and want to vomit. He’d see her brushing Lady Grantham’s hair and feel bile rise up in his throat. She was as ugly to him in these moments as a bloated ravaged corpse, something disgusting that ought to be hid from sight forever. Worst of all, Thomas and Richard were the only ones to know so all the others treated her as normal. Admittedly, no one was friendly with her (or even remotely polite) but they acknowledged her existence and gave her space at the table.</p><p>Worst of all, Baxter was starting to weaken mentally. Something had happened, though Thomas could not be sure what, and now she was practically comatose during the day. He’d try and drag her into conversation, only to get half-hearted replies that drifted into nothingness. At meals, she would only eat a small portion of her plate. At night, when she finally drifted off to bed, she was gray and had a malaise about her. Asking her what was wrong was as good as trying to make conversation with a brick wall.</p><p>He needed allies, and he needed them quickly. He was losing ground to the enemy, and if he did not make it up quickly, he would find himself in a situation he could not control.</p><p>Thomas had contemplated long and hard on who to tell his secrets to. In a house full of personalities, each man and woman could benefit and disadvantage him in their own ways. Yet for the first time in his life, Thomas was no longer picking out people at the table like cards from a deck. In his mind, he’d already made up who he wanted to tell, despite the fact that it was probably a shite idea. He needed someone who was wacky enough to go along with schemes, but morally ubiquitous enough to hold the line in the sand when pressed. He needed someone who loved Baxter as much as he did, and who wouldn’t be afraid to put up a fight for her.</p><p> </p><p>In short, he needed the one person in the house who could benefit him the least and was, in essence, a walking disaster. He needed Joseph Moseley.</p><p> </p><p>Like a fisherman casting out a shiny lure, Thomas slipped a note into Moseley’s pocket when he was distracted by the wireless. In it, he bade the man to meet him in the wine cellar at midnight but never specified who he was meeting. This, he decided, was the best plan of action because if Moseley knew it was him, he probably wouldn’t come. By keeping it open ended, he stood a chance of Moseley being pliable.</p><p>So he waited till midnight, went to the wine cellar, and hid amongst the shelves contemplating how he was going to explain to Moseley all the horrors of their current situation.</p><p>He didn’t have to wait long. Punctual to a fault, at 12:01, the cellar door opened with a loan groan of ancient iron on wood.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello?” Moseley descended three steps, only to pause from nerves. He held his torch out a bit more, illuminating the second row of wine bottles. Behind a sea of green glass, Thomas carefully clung to the shadows until Moseley had reached the bottom step and was well within reach.</p><p>“Whose there?” He looked left, then right, and finally began to walk down the center aisle where a deep floor grate lead directly into the water main below.</p><p>Moseley walked right by Thomas, too focused on looking where his light was falling to realize that someone was standing a foot away from him in the dark.</p><p>“You should pay more attention.” Thomas mused.</p><p>Moseley jumped out of his skin, letting out a little shriek of terror. Thomas ought to feel badly for it, but instead he just felt smug. Despite their age, it seemed he was still superior to Moseley when it came to sleuthing.</p><p>Shuddering and wheezing, Moseley grasped at his shoulder like he was about to suffer a heart attack. From the way he was sweating, Thomas wouldn’t be surprised if he keeled over dead.</p><p>“M-M-Mr. Barrow!” Moseley stuttered out of nerves. “You scared me to death!”</p><p>“My point still stands, you should be more careful when you’re walking around in the dark, there’s a killer on the loose,” Thomas said. Moseley gave him a dirty look and turned off his torch light so that the pair of them weren’t accidentally blinding the other. Now in a cool gloom of blue light cascading from the far windows, their eyes could adjust.</p><p>“Are you the one that sent this note?” Moseley pulled out a note from his pocket; Thomas recognized it as the one he’d snuck earlier.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“What is this about?!” Moseley demanded, now quite angry as he flapped his arms in the wind. “Why all the secrecy?! Why all the hiding and the darkness?! I thought you were past all this.”</p><p>But the darkness suited Thomas’ mood, and it was safer in this cellar than anywhere else in the abbey.</p><p>“I’ve discovered something terrible,” Thomas said. “And I had to talk with you in private.”</p><p>“Why me?” Moseley asked. This, above all things, seemed to confuse him.</p><p>“… Because you love Baxter,” Thomas said.</p><p> </p><p>For a moment, Moseley simply stared at him with his mouth slightly ajar. Then, the weight of Thomas’ words and their meaning fell upon him. He grew sober and dropped his attitude of indignation. Thomas took that moment to take out a cigarette, which he lit. He offered another to Moseley, as a mock form of apology for his earlier antics. Moseley refused.</p><p>“Doesn’t agree with me,” he said. “How bad is it, this thing you’ve discovered.”</p><p>“Terrible,” Thomas said. “Worse than you can imagine.”</p><p>“Alright then, let’s hear it.”</p><p>“I know who the agent is,” Thomas explained. Moseley did a double take. “I know who told Coyle we’d be traveling the other night. I know who caused Albert Mason’s death. I know whose hunting down Ms. Baxter.”</p><p>“Have you told the police?” Moseley asked at once.</p><p>“No,” Thomas took a draw from his cigarette.</p><p>“Why not?” Moseley demanded, starting to grow angry again from Thomas’ supposed lack of urgency. “We’re running out of time and Ms. Baxter is in danger! I thought you cared for her!”</p><p>“I do,” Thomas said. “But unfortunately, I cannot tell the police who the agent is without destroying my life.”</p><p>He wondered if Moseley might not believe him at first and get angrier. But instead, Thomas’ words drew reproach. Maybe it was less what he said and more how he said it, for Moseley’s irritation began to melt into serious concern.</p><p>“Destroy your life?” Moseley repeated. “…How?”</p><p>And he supposed, it was time to tell Moseley the full and bitter truth about who he was. Baxter loved this man and trusted him. To be fair, given her streak, she didn’t have the best history of male companions. But Thomas had known Moseley before Baxter, and while he’d been a pain in the ass and a simpleton, he was also scrupulously fair and well read.</p><p>It was a gamble… but unfortunately, Thomas would have to take it if they were to make any headway against O’Brien. He needed every resource at his disposal, and Moseley was his best avenue to keep Baxter safe until he could find a way to get rid of O’Brien.</p><p>“Mr. Moseley, do you know what I am?” Thomas asked.</p><p>Moseley shook his head, now starting to look lightly unnerved. “I…” He paused, recomposing himself. “I don’t understand the question, Mr. Barrow.”</p><p>Thomas flicked a bit of ash to the floor. “Has Ms. Baxter ever told you things about me? Private things?”</p><p>“I mean…” Moseley scoffed, gesturing in the silence. When Thomas did not make to explain more, he just shook his head again. “What?”</p><p>“She’s never said a thing?” Thomas knew this to be untrue; he’d heard Baxter say things himself while hiding behind a bush. He wanted to see how much Moseley would reveal.</p><p>“She says that you’ve got a lot going on that I don’t know about,” Moseley explained. “Things are difficult for you. I always try to mind your space with her. She’s very fond of you.”</p><p>“Yes…” Thomas whispered. What a shame that someone cared about him. If only he was still detached this whole scenario would be a lot easier. “Silly little cow.” And thought it ought to be an insult, it wasn’t one falling from his lips.</p><p>For a moment, they were quiet. Then, Moseley tried to take the lead, scuffing his feet upon the grimy stone floor. “So… will you tell me why it would destroy your life?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Thomas mused. He drew another breath of smoke, the nicotine soothing his nerves. “I need to but… if I were to tell you, you’d probably despise me. It’s a dividing issue, the one I face. You either fall on one side of the coin or another. I need your help to protect her from the danger she faces, but the danger faces me too… and we’re not fond of each other, are we?”</p><p>He didn’t deny it, not outright, but he did turn the conversation into a more manageable route. Thomas supposed this was the mark of a great teacher. To be able to communicate with someone despite irritations. “I love her, Mr. Barrow. I love her with all my heart and soul. And she loves you. She <em>adores </em>you,” he strained the word with fervor.</p><p>Thomas licked at the corner of his lips where his mouth stung from smoke.</p><p>“She thinks of you as some kind of…” He clearly didn’t know the word, “Hero I suppose. Sometimes I make a comment and she says ‘Joseph, I can’t love someone who doesn’t love him’.” This struck a nerve in the man. He pondered Baxter’s words for a moment before saying, “I’ve wanted to talk to you for a while now, to be truthful. I never found the right time.”</p><p>“There is no right time,” Thomas said. Moseley agreed with a silent nod of the head. “Not for men like me. So if you’ve got something to say, you might as well say it now. I’m a grown man… and I’m not afraid of you or your criticism.”</p><p>Moseley bristled at the word, folding his arms over his chest. “You stole from Mr. Carson. You were cruel to William and Mr. Bates…. You can be cruel to everyone, frankly. All the time. You’re a wretched person when you want to be, and you were to her when she first arrived… but then you changed. Why?”</p><p>He let out an exhalation of smoke through his nose and allowed the silence to stretch.</p><p>“Why is she so special to you?” Moseley continued on, pushing. “Why do you treat her so sweetly? I’ve often wondered if you actually love her. Is that what this is? Are you pining for her in secret?”</p><p>Thomas laughed, but it was a bitter dark thing that never left his throat. Moseley looked quite annoyed, and opened his mouth to speak, but Thomas waved him down. If he went on like this, he’d only make himself look a fool.</p><p>“…No,” Thomas said. “No, I love her alright… but I’m not pining for her. I look at her as my best friend, a sister if you will. That’s all she ever could be to me.”</p><p>“Why?” Moseley asked. “You two seem to get along well enough.” There was a bitter edge in his voice, like perhaps he’d been jealous of Thomas before in the past.</p><p>“Oh Moseley…” Thomas whispered, shaking his head. “You really don’t know?”</p><p>“Know what?” Moseley demanded. “Enough with the secrets already, just say it! What’s so damn dire that you had to drag me down here, and now you can’t even tell me?”</p><p>Thomas smiled placidly at the man and prepared himself for what was surely to come next. Time after time he’d endured the scorn… he could do it one more time.</p><p>He could it for Baxter.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m a homosexual,” Thomas said.</p><p>At first, Moseley did not seem to understand. He just stood there and stared, until the implications of the word ‘homosexual’ hit him with the force of an anvil. He made a string of tiny, pathetic little noises like he wanted to say ‘oh’.  Instead, he said nothing at all and just stared at Thomas, agog.</p><p>Knowing it was only a matter of time before the moral judgement came dropping down, Thomas pushed forward.</p><p>“…My father destroyed me,” Thomas explained calmly. “My family abandoned me. I have lost everyone I’ve ever loved because of it. Every person who has found out my secret has used it against me, and when they’ve not used it they’ve held it…”</p><p>Moseley gave a tiny breath of exhale, still too shocked to speak.</p><p>“I see it in their eyes,” Thomas whispered, narrowing his own. “The way they speak to me. Halfway with pity, mostly with disgust. Sometimes, when they think I’m not looking, they stare at my body. They’re looking to see if I’m shaped differently from a normal man. They want to know what I look like naked. A few have even admitted it…”</p><p>He was going darker, deeper, and pulling at sick strings that made his heart ache from years of abuse. “Dr. Clarkson wonders if my brain is shaped differently. He’s never said it to my face, but I’ve overhead it mentioned by the nurses. Carson despises me.” Thomas repeated the word, wanting it to stick, “Despises… Thinks I’m vile and unnatural. That I ought to be horsewhipped.”</p><p>Moseley touched his brow, and let his hand drop down upon his face so that he cupped his jaw in his hand, his mouth pressed into an exaggerated ‘o’.</p><p>“…the agent knows my secret, Mr. Moseley,” Thomas said. “I go to the police, so do they.”</p><p>Moseley winced.</p><p>“I dunno what they’ll get,” Thomas shrugged. “But I know what I’ll get. Briarcliff.”</p><p>Moseley still said nothing, now chewing on his bottom lip as he fished for the right words.</p><p>“Do you know what they do to men like me in Briarcliff?” Thomas asked. Moseley looked ready to be ill.</p><p>“They take an icepick…” Thomas pointed his finger, using it as a makeshift tool, “An’ they jam it into the corner of your eye,” He touched the spot on his own face, part of his vision obscured by his own arm. “Then they take a mallet, and they-“</p><p>“Stop,” Moseley blurted out. He was back to holding his mouth, as if he’d vomit.</p><p>For a moment, silence reigned between them. Now that Moseley knew the full and ugly truth, he looked sick to his stomach. He dropped his hand to his chest and beat at the skin there in a soft repetitive rhythm as if to sooth himself. Neither of them knew what to say to the other.</p><p>“… I’m stuck,” Thomas’ voice was a tiny pathetic thing. “I can’t go to the police, an’ the agent knows it. We’ve been leveled. Those were the words they used.”</p><p>Moseley took a shuddering breath, exhaling slowly.</p><p>“Who’s the agent?” he finally asked.</p><p>But Thomas wasn’t ready to talk about the agent just yet, he wanted to know more about Moseley and his revelation on Thomas’ nature. All this information, and yet nothing to say? That didn’t sound like the scholar he knew.</p><p>“…All this new information,” Thomas mused, “And still so silent.”</p><p>“It doesn’t change anything,” but Moseley wouldn’t meet his eyes anymore.</p><p>“You don’t think that” He scowled.</p><p>“No, but… I’m trying to come to grips with it,” as if Thomas had just declared he’d killed someone instead of loved a member of the same sex. “I… I’ve read about this, quite a lot. I know it’s not your fault. I know it’s not something you chose but…”</p><p>“But,” Thomas repeated the word icily.</p><p>“I…” He shook his head, still unable to meet Thomas’ eyes. “I’ve never known anyone like you.”</p><p>“Oh, I assure you,” He drawled. “You have. You just don’t know it. Because they never trusted you enough to tell you. Frankly, I don’t trust you. The only reason I’m telling you now is because of the awful situation we’re in. I had to take a gamble tonight, and it probably won’t end well in my favor. You see, Mr. Moseley, if you’re like me, you dare not speak out. You must try and read the signs as best you can because it’s all you get. And right now, the sign I’m seeing is the expression on your face. How you’re unable to meet my eyes. How you’re shifting away from me. You’re disgusted.”</p><p>“No,” Moseley denied it, but still wouldn’t meet Thomas’ eyes.</p><p>“You want to know if my brain is shaped differently.”</p><p>“No, Thomas please!”</p><p>“Then why won’t you look at me?!” and he shouted the final three words.</p><p>Slowly, frightened, Moseley jerkily turned about and stared at him. The pair of them did not break eye connection with the other, both trying to prove a point. After several seconds, Thomas said, “Own your vitriol, Mr. Moseley… We are poor men; we must claim all that we can in this world.”</p><p>Moseley took a steadying breath, only to relax inch by inch. He was calming himself, re-centering, and Thomas had to respect that. It was a lot to take in, he supposed. To be revealed this side of an old co-worker you thought you knew everything about.</p><p>“… Who’s the agent,” Moseley whispered.</p><p>“O’Brien,” Thomas said.</p><p>Once again, Moseley twitched and turned, his expression morphing from calm to horrified. “What?” He demanded; tone had changed rapidly from soft to sharp.</p><p>Thomas nodded. “No!”</p><p>“Yes,” he confirmed.</p><p>“No!” Moseley cupped both hands to his mouth, aghast.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Oh my god-!” Moseley moaned, hands sliding up to his thinning hair which he gripped tight. “This is… This is insanity!”</p><p>“Coyle put her in Lady Grantham’s path,” Thomas explained. Moseley paced back and forth, too upset to pay attention but also soaking in every word. “She did the busy work. It’s all a ruse. She’s here to do something to Phyllis, I have no idea what. But she knows that I know the truth, so she’s pulled her card. I go to the police, she goes to the police… and what’s more there’s…”</p><p>He paused, slightly embarrassed. “There’s more than one person involved.”</p><p>“W-“Moseley looked about, confused. “Another? Who?”</p><p>“Another man, and that’s all you need to know,” Thomas growled. “But she knows about him too, and she’ll-“</p><p>Moseley held up a finger, eyes narrowed. That conniving little brain of his was thinking, and perhaps coming to more conclusions than he ought to.</p><p>“Wait a minute…” Moseley whispered, eyes lighting up. “Wait a minute! Another man… connected to you, like you… it isn’t… is it?” Now he seemed to be talking to himself, eyes flicking back and forth upon the floor. He looked back at Thomas, keen. “… Is it who I think it is?”</p><p>Thomas blinked, irritated by Moseley’s penchant for digging too deep and uncovering too much.</p><p>“… Ellis,” Moseley whispered.</p><p>Thomas bristled. It was the wrong move to make.</p><p>“Yes…!” Moseley’s eyes were ablaze now, as if the whole of creation had dawned upon him. Like he’d discovered the secret to man’s mortality, and he was bursting to explain it to the next person he saw. “That’s why he came back to Yorkshire, isn’t it? To be here, with you! The pair of you! You’re always together, you’re always sneaking about and whispering to each other! It couldn’t make sense to me why he’d give up a career in London and move back here when it was such a step down in the world but… but if he did it… for you? To be with you…” for whatever reason, Moseley seemed moved.</p><p>Thomas finished his cigarette and slowly let the cherry dwindle down to the nub. He felt on display, like a bug underneath a garish light.</p><p>“… I’m not stupid,” Moseley warned him.</p><p>“I never said you were.”</p><p>“I see the way he looks at you,” Moseley mused, now softer in his approach. “I wondered a bit but… I’d never have guessed this. Knowing what I know now? It’s so obvious. No wonder he jumped to your defense the other night with Andy. You’re…”</p><p>But he couldn’t seem to find the right word.</p><p>Irritated, Thomas snapped. “Lovers?”</p><p>“Right, that,” Moseley flustered. Thomas scoffed, and crushed his cigarette under the heel of his boot. Why was it so difficult to put a name to it?</p><p>“So… So she’ll frame him too?” Moseley demanded. “She’ll turn you both in and ruin your lives forever. What if I go to the police? Do you think she’d do it then?”</p><p>“Probably,” Thomas mused. “She’d cut her nose off to spite her face, where I’m concerned.”</p><p>Moseley was growing heated. Furious at the reveal that they were stuck in the house with a murderer, Moseley cursed aloud, “That… <em>bitch!” </em></p><p>Thomas blinked, taken aback. He’d never heard Moseley say such things before.</p><p>“Heavens,” He drawled. “I’m amazed your hair’s not on fire.”</p><p>“Well I’m sorry but that’s what she is!”</p><p>“I’m not disagreeing.”</p><p>“What do we do?” Moseley paced back and forth; perhaps this was how he thought on his feet. Maybe the action soothed him. “We’ve got to find a way to stop her, to get her away from Phyllis. She’s already in a bad way mentally, I can tell. She says that she can’t tell me, but I know that something is going on.”</p><p>The idea of Phyllis being poorly sent a cold chill through Thomas’ veins. What if O’Brien’s malice was already starting to take effect? What if she was in more danger than Thomas had already imagined? She could be poisoned or worse.</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“She’s been ill for days, vomiting. She thinks I don’t hear her, but I do,” Vomiting, Christ, that fit the poisoning bill perfectly! “She can’t sleep at night.”</p><p>“How do you know?”</p><p>But instead of simply telling Thomas how he knew about Baxter’s sleeping patterns, Moseley fell abruptly silent and looked oddly embarrassed. He couldn’t understand why, it was a simple enough question. Surely Baxter had just told him or maybe he’d noticed bags underneath her eyes.</p><p>“Well…. I…” his voice was feeble. Thomas narrowed his eyes.</p><p>“You?” He urged.</p><p>“…In for a penny in for a pound?”</p><p>At first, Thomas could not understand what this euphemism was referring to. In for a penny in for a pound…. He knew about her sleeping patterns… And then, it occurred to him that Baxter had claimed to want to go home with Daisy on the night of their attack, but in all honesty, she’d probably been going somewhere else.</p><p>To Moseley’s.</p><p>“Oh…” the vile anger that rose up within him was misplaced, and knew it, but he couldn’t help it all the same. “You disgusting son of a bitch! Don’t you dare say it or I’ll wallop you!”</p><p>How dare he? How dare he shed his greens with Phyllis Baxter, Thomas could kill him!</p><p>Moseley’s pallid cheeks flushed a bright red. Furious and unashamed, he cried out, “What?! At least what we do is natural, not like you and your buggery!”</p><p>“You’ve been makin’ whoopee with Phyllis?!” He’d get into the whole ‘buggery’ bit later. Right now, he wanted to press his point hard and fast. “I could feckin’ wring your chicken neck!”</p><p>“Why are you getting so hot and bothered?!”</p><p>It was a fair question but honestly it was difficult to answer. It was none of his business, what Phyllis and Moseley did in their spare time, but he was quite protective of her and felt furious at the idea of anyone taking her clothes off. He supposed this was how older brothers felt about their younger sisters. Thomas’ sister had been older than him, and even so she hadn’t cared much about him either way.</p><p>“Because she’s my best friend!” Thomas said. This was close to the point, but not exactly the honest truth.</p><p>“Well, you ought to be glad for her!”</p><p>Glad that Moseley was plowing her like a farmer to the field? He thought he might be ill.</p><p>“Stay back from me or I’ll slug you.”</p><p>It was a mark of the man’s character that he didn’t take offense. Instead, Moseley seemed to realize that Thomas’ hostility was grounded in something far more humane and natural. Thomas laid his head against one of the ancient wine racks; the grit bit into his skin, but he couldn’t focus on it. He was trying to gather himself, trying to reign in his temper.</p><p>It was surprisingly difficult.</p><p>“Look, Thomas, I’m sorry if me making love to my future wife upsets you. I know you’re close to her, but I love her. I do!” He was adamant on this point. “And I’ve never been untoward or ungentlemanly toward her. We made this choice as consenting adults. I didn’t ferry her into the back room and have my way like some kind of pervert.”</p><p>But Thomas already knew all of this. Moseley was many things (a moron under stress, a weak little chicken in a fight, and a bumbling idiot when pressed for answers) but he was not a pervert. He adored Phyllis and to be fair they were going to get married relatively soon… maybe at the root of it, Thomas just didn’t want to lose her. To lose the closeness he had with her.</p><p>Also, he had to wonder, where in the hell had they been having sex during this crisis? It wasn’t like they were going to Moseley’s cottage.</p><p>“… Where did you do it?” Thomas asked.</p><p>Moseley grimaced. He closed his eyes, clenching his teeth. Clearly whatever he was about to tell Thomas, he knew it would not go over well.</p><p>“Attic?” Thomas griped. Moseley shook his head.</p><p>“Where?” Thomas asked.</p><p>Moseley opened his eyes, silently pleading with Thomas. Now he was truly worried.</p><p>“Where?” He croaked, afraid of the answer.</p><p>With a tiny, trembling jerk of the finger, Moseley pointed to the floor.</p><p>Thomas let out a yowl of disgust and horror, clapping his hands over his eyes. They’d done it right in this very room! He was standing on a bed of sluttish Moseley behavior! He wanted to hop about like the very floor were made of lava!</p><p>“Like you have any right to get mad!” Moseley protested. “God only knows what you and Mr. Ellis get up to!”</p><p>“I have the decency not to do it in the house!” Thomas shot back.</p><p>“Well… I’m…!” Moseley blustered, before falling flat. He let out a few exhausted breaths, then finally said in a more sober tone. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>For a moment, Thomas felt his anger pause, and he realized it was because Moseley hadn’t made a quip about ‘decency’. He hadn’t said ‘you’re not decent’ or anything of the sort. He’d apologized. And that was… unexpected.</p><p>“…What?” Moseley asked. Clearly Thomas’ confusion had shown on his face.</p><p>“Nothing… I…” He shifted back and forth, unsure. “I thought you’d make a quip about decency and my nature.”</p><p>“I’m not that sort of man,” and indeed, Moseley wasn’t. “Look…” He bowed his head, re-resolving himself in lieu of his exposed sins. “Let’s make a pact you and I.”</p><p>“A pact?” He’d never considered himself the sort of person to make pacts, but he also hadn’t considered Moseley to be capable of saying ‘bitch’ or having sex on a dirty basement floor.</p><p>“We’ll watch out for her and protect her,” Moseley explained. “Like… two knights in a tale!”</p><p>But Thomas wasn’t the sort to go in for chivalry. He rolled his eyes, starting to get exhausted by Moseley’s rhetoric. “Jesus Christ.”</p><p>“Well, I don’t know what else to call it!”</p><p>Clearly it was up to Thomas to be the rational one and make decisions.</p><p>“How about we just…” he paused for a moment, considering what they needed to do and how they needed to do it. It was good and well pretending to be knights, but what they needed was an understanding, and a single movement of mind to keep Baxter safe.</p><p>“We have an understanding,” Thomas divided the words with hand gestures, his voice back to a rational calm that suited him best. “We keep Phyllis safe, and somehow… stop O’Brien.”</p><p>“Alright, deal.” Moseley was pleased by this. He offered his hand in a shake. “A man’s sacred handshake to seal our decision.”</p><p>He ought to have taken his hand and said it good… but Thomas could not resist asking the final question, pushing the final time. He’d known this man since he was fifteen years old. Back then, Moseley had been insufferably pure and traditional. Now that he knew Thomas was a homosexual, and that he was in love with Richard, how would their relationship change?</p><p>“Are you sure you want to touch me?” Thomas asked him. Moseley did not drop his gaze. “I’ve heard others wonder if what I am is catching. Are you sure you want to risk touching the hand of a filthy, perverted, vile, homosexual?”</p><p>Moseley licked his lips, re-affirmed his posture into something that was slightly self-deprecating, and declared: “I had sex on a basement floor with an unmarried woman. Twice. I couldn’t get the grime off for days.”</p><p>Well… that was slightly more information than he wanted, but it made them square.</p><p>They shook hands.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Having Moseley on his side made Thomas feel significantly better. The more people keeping an eye out for Baxter, the better, and now that Thomas knew she was unwell he took an avid interest into her diet and sleeping patterns. One of the things that he noted was she often needed to sit during the middle of the day; she was an older woman but certainly not old enough to be exhausted by one in the afternoon. Nervous that it might mean trouble, Thomas began to memorize her patterns until he could look at the clock on the mantel and guess whether she might be resting or not.</p><p>Then one day, everything went rather askew.</p><p> </p><p>Thomas was intent on ordering repairs to a silver tray that had been dented during removal from storage, and was scanning a trader’s magazine at the table when Baxter entered the servant’s hall looking ready to faint. She all but collapsed into his favorite rocking chair, shaking as she stared into the fire.</p><p>He paused, noting her shaken composure. Had something happened?</p><p>Nervous that things had taken a turn for the worse, Thomas set his magazine aside and came around the table to approach her. So lost in a fog was she that she did not even notice him.</p><p>“Are you alright?” He asked her, a hand upon her shoulder. “You look like hell…”</p><p>She didn’t speak, still staring into the fire.</p><p>Nervous, Thomas glanced over his shoulder to Anna who was watching close by as she continued to knit a blanket for her unborn baby. It seemed that she too could sense something was not quite right with Baxter.</p><p>He squatted down upon his heels, looking up into her face now. From this new angle he could see that she had deep bags beneath her brown eyes, a clear indication she hadn’t been sleeping just like Moseley had said.</p><p>“You know you can tell me anything, right?” He asked. It was his last, and most desperate attempt to get her to speak. A prayer that she might hear his voice and remember they were bound to one another in their sins.</p><p>Her brown eyes flickered to his face and held his gaze.</p><p>“… I’m pregnant,” she whispered.</p><p>Thomas stared, unable to process what she’d just said. His open mouth did not make for a professional appearance.</p><p>“I’m forty years old, and I’m pregnant,” She whispered.</p><p>She looked back to the fire and grew still once more.</p><p> </p><p>She’d said she was pregnant, what did that mean? Did she mean…? But surely, she couldn’t have because that would mean she’d…</p><p>But…</p><p>“What?” Thomas whispered.</p><p>He heard a sharp creaking noise and looked over his shoulder to find Anna had also heard. It was clear that as a pregnant woman and a mother already, she understood the gravity and graveness of the situation. She stood behind Baxter and placed her hands upon her shoulders in a show of support. She, like he, was terribly worried.</p><p>“I thought…” Phyllis shook her head, “I thought I couldn’t have children. I…” she touched her stomach, holding it. “We only… twice…”</p><p>“Once is all it takes,” Anna whispered in a sad small voice. “Does he know?”</p><p>Phyllis shook her head, still looking into the fire. She was lost within herself unable to know what to do next or where to turn.</p><p>“You’ve got to tell him,” Thomas said. Moseley had to know and at once.</p><p>“I’m scared….” She whispered. “The others… what if they find out and-“</p><p>“We won’t let them,” He assured her at once.</p><p>“It’ll be our secret,” Anna agreed. “They can find out after the wedding, and that’s that.”</p><p>Phyllis gripped her stomach a little tighter, as if hoping she could physically hold the tiny speck of life inside her. “I’ll probably lose it,” Her voice cracked, eyes misting up. “I’ve lost others. You know the rest, Thomas-“</p><p>She looked at him, and in her eyes, he could see nothing but terror. She didn’t know what to do.</p><p>He had to be strong for her. He looked to Anna for support and found it at once.</p><p>“Why don’t we talk to Dr. Clarkson, right now.” Anna urged. “I had to have a doctor help me, and now I’m having my second baby.”</p><p>This was rational and quite frankly Thomas should have thought of it himself. He couldn’t help but think of Andy who’d had Daisy weeing on a pile of grain instead of going to the doctor like a sane person. Back then it had seemed so simple, but now that Thomas was in Andy’s shoes, he realized that the oncoming predicament of a helpless infant really did rob you of your rational thinking. He’d forgotten about Dr. Clarkson, when frankly he was the first person Thomas should have thought of.</p><p>“Mr. Barrow, can I take Ms. Baxter?” Anna asked.</p><p>“Yes,” He answered her before she’d even finished her sentence. “Of course—wait-“ they couldn’t just go walking down to the village now when Baxter was frightened and Anna was pregnant—Christ they were both pregnant! They needed protection!</p><p>“Someone will have to go with you for safety,” Thomas said.</p><p>“Why not Lady Grantham or Lady Mary,” Baxter said. “Then we can use the car.”</p><p>Now <em>that </em>was a good idea. Phyllis had served as Lady Grantham’s maid for many years now. They had a good relationship. She was the best person to ask.</p><p>“Anna, go get both your coats, tell no one what you’re doing or where you’re going, not even Mrs. Hughes,” Thomas said. Anna was off like a shot down the hallway to the coat rack, leaving Phyllis to sit by the fire.</p><p>“I’m going to speak with Lady Grantham,” Thomas said. “Stay right here.”</p><p>She nodded, back to staring at the fire. He left her and ran for the stairs to take them two at a time.</p><p>He bypassed a maid who had to flatten herself against the wall lest she be trampled and hit the gallery floor in record timing. He ran to Lady Grantham’s bedroom, for the hour was near dinner and she would undoubtedly either be changing or getting ready to change. He knocked on the door hurriedly, and smoothed back frays of his hair with a sweating hand.</p><p>It opened to reveal O’Brien, who sneered at him.</p><p>“Her ladyship is-“ But Thomas pushed bodily past her, so that she made an irate noise of shock. Lady Grantham was sitting upon her vanity poof in her dressing gown and was quite surprised to see him so done up.</p><p>“Barrow!” She was confused, clutching at the hem of her coat. “Is everything alright, you look dreadful-“</p><p>“No, something has happened, and your ladyship must know about it at once, it’s to do with Anna,” Thomas lied. He knew that Anna and Bates were the family favorites. If Lady Grantham thought something was wrong with her darling angel, she’d drop everything to assist.</p><p>It worked like a charm, with Lady Grantham gasping, “Anna-“ She fretfully waved her hand to O’Brien. “O’Brien you’d better go. I want privacy.”</p><p>Bitter at being done out in her own domain, O’Brien bristled with a curtsey to her mistress. “M’lady” she ground out. Closing the door with a curt snap, Thomas took a gasp for breath before bending over so that he could whisper into Lady Grantham’s ear.</p><p>“I’m sorry, I lied,” He whispered harshly. “It’s not Anna, it’s Ms. Baxter, but I can’t let O’Brien know because they aren’t in good humors.”</p><p>“Why?” Lady Grantham asked, confused.</p><p>“It’s a long story,” Thomas wouldn’t go into it now, “I don’t want her overhearing so I’m speaking to you softly. Ms. Baxter needs to see Dr. Clarkson right now. It’s an emergency.”</p><p>“What’s happened?” Lady Grantham stood from her vanity stool, clutching her robe all the tighter to her breast.</p><p>“I’m sorry to shock you M’lady, but she’s pregnant and she’s afraid she’s about to lose the baby due to her age.”</p><p>Lady Grantham gaped, shocked at Thomas’ turn of news. Her reply, however, was slightly peculiar. “But… she’s not married yet.” She said it as if this would have automatically kept Baxter from getting pregnant even with Moseley plowing her like a field. As if a woman’s relationship status somehow sewed up the lips of their vagina.</p><p>He stared at her, perturbed. Catching the silliness of her comment, she shook her head and said.</p><p>“Are you certain of this? She’s so old to be pregnant-“</p><p>“That’s why we need to see a doctor!” He protested. “She’s not well, she’s exhausted, and she’s terrified. But I can’t send her out into the wilderness alone with Coyle lurking behind every shrug. The wagonettes in the shop for repairs…. We need the car. Please M’lady.”</p><p>“Of course,” Lady Grantham was a steady sailor, after three daughters that had run her ragged with wild exploits. “Of course, you’re absolutely right, Barrow. I’ll have O’Brien dress me.”</p><p>“M’lady, O’Brien cannot be told a thing about this,” He said again. “For the sake of the baby, I’m begging you say nothing to her.”</p><p>Lady Grantham tilted her head, eyes narrowing at the implications of Thomas’ words.</p><p>“Alright… have Anna come dress me.” Lady Grantham said.</p><p>“Good as gold, M’lady,” For Anna already knew everything. “I’ll fetch her right now.”</p><p>He left, and found O’Brien waiting just outside the door. Judging from her sour expression, she hadn’t been able to overhear anything. Haughty, she drew herself up to her full height and said, “Careful now, or I may-“</p><p>But Thomas shoved right past her and hurried for the green baize door.</p><p>He didn’t have time to listen to her threats.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Baxter’s news, thought not preached from the rafters, trickled like honey through the cracks of Downton until Thomas was barged in upon as he sat in his office by Mrs. Hughes who demanded to know precisely what was going on. He could no more hide the truth from her than he could from God himself. The next person he told was Richard (but that was by choice); he was smart enough to fetch Thomas a cup of tea and let him have a moment alone.</p><p>Anna and Baxter still were not back from the doctor; Moseley had gone off in a hurry though… which made Thomas wonder if Mrs. Hughes had told him the news or if he’d simply gotten wind when Baxter had vanished.</p><p> </p><p>When a harried knock came upon his door after dinner, Thomas hoped that it was Baxter. When he’d called for whoever it was to ‘enter’, however, he was sorely disappointed to find it wasn’t Baxter at all but instead was Charles Carson.</p><p>Why the hell had he come up?</p><p>“Mr. Carson,” He had a feeling that the acid in his greeting did not go unnoticed.</p><p>“I heard the news and came as fast as I could,” He sucked in a slight breath, shutting the door behind him to keep out gossiping ears. God only knows where O’Brien was now.</p><p>“What news,” He drawled, not even bothering to look Carson in the eye as he flipped a page in his planner. If Carson knew Baxter’s news, it was probably because of Mrs. Hughes… see if he ever trusted her again.</p><p>“You know good and well what news!” He certainly didn’t appreciate being ignored. “That Ms. Baxter has shed her decency for Moseley and is pregnant out of wedlock! I want her dismissed from this house at once!”</p><p>Slowly, Thomas looked up at Carson, an unpleasant smile upon his face which stretched the corners of his mouth tight. He let out a dry humorless bubble of a laugh that gritted through his throat and came out as a wheezing gasp.</p><p>So, he thought, just like that, Thomas would fire Baxter? Right on a whim, a snap of the fingers, pip pip cheerio…. The prig.</p><p>“Do you?” Thomas returned to his planner. “That’s quite amusing, I thank you for the laugh.”</p><p>“I am the elder statesman!” Carson declared, as if this made him god himself. “I am the one who has final say over the staff!”</p><p>“Do you?” Thomas sneered. “Or are you just over bloated in your retirement. I’m the butler now, and Mrs. Hughes and I do the hiring and the firing. Not you. I’m not firing Baxter over joyous news.”</p><p>“Joyous?!” This, more than anything else, set Carson off. It was as if Thomas had proclaimed himself a Satanist. “For having her greens before marriage like a common whore-?!”</p><p>But Thomas had been under too much stress for too long, and the act of hearing someone like Carson call someone like Baxter a foul name set him off. Like a match, struck against the side of a tinderbox, Thomas leapt up from his office chair in a spark of fury. He’d never felt such rage before at the man!</p><p>“Don’t you dare speak of her that way to me!” He shouted. Carson went white, appalled at being verbally abused in his old office. “Don’t you dare! She may not be Lady Mary, but she is just as precious to me as the same is to you! I will not have her discussed in vile tones, not in my presence!”</p><p>Flustering, Carson tried to back up only to hit a brick wall, “I am aware that the nature of your relationship is difficult, but that does not excuse you from holding up order in this house-“</p><p>“I am holding up order!” He declared, for the true instabilities were O’Brien and Carson in equal measure.</p><p>“With that fiend O’Brien back in the house, and Baxter having a bastard out of wedlock!”</p><p>“ENOUGH!” He roared. He slammed a balled fist to his desk, causing his ink pot to rattle wildly and nearly fall over. Carson was taken aback by the viciousness of the act.</p><p>He pointed to the door with a hand trembling in fury. “Get out of my office.”</p><p>“This was my office first, lest you forget, you ungrateful little upstart!”</p><p>“Well it’s mine now!” Thomas shouted at the top of his lungs. “An’ if you don’t leave, I shall throw you out myself!”</p><p>They were on the verge of truly hashing it out now, the pair of them so angry at the other that they could not be bothered to keep their voices down or pretend to be cordial. For all the cruelty that Thomas had known at Carson’s hands, it was the idea of Baxter being abused which made him see red. He supposed that it was self-deprecating of him, to fend for Baxter more than himself, but he simply couldn’t help it. After a lifetime of being told he was worthless, he no longer had the energy to deny it.</p><p>The door opened to reveal Mrs. Hughes, who was scandalized at the uproar.</p><p>“All this shouting and hammering,” She berated the pair of them, “What on earth is going on? Have the pair of you lost your minds?”</p><p>“My mind is quite intact, thank you very much!” Carson was like a drowning man, clinging to any life raft that came floating his way. Clearly, he was hoping his wife would hold his side, but the sour look on Mrs. Hughes’ face left more to be desired. “Barrow has taken leave of his senses and is now threatening to throw me out of my own office!”</p><p>Mrs. Hughes was taken aback, and at first Thomas thought she would defend her husband. Instead, she replied, “But Mr. Carson… this isn’t your office. It’s his.”</p><p>For all the shock and horror upon Carson’s pouchy face, you’d have thought she’d slapped him. He was staggered, unable to comprehend how it was that his dearest companion had turned on him during a vital hour. Seizing the moment, Thomas plundered onward. If she would not listen to Carson’s side, perhaps she might just listen to his.</p><p>“Mrs. Hughes, he wants me to kick Baxter out of the house for daring to ‘shed her decency’ with Moseley before marriage. He called her a common whore and her baby a bastard!”</p><p>A grave expression fell over her face. She grew withdrawn, and set her mouth into a firm, hard line.</p><p>“Mr. Carson, may I speak with you in my office?” She opened the door to the hallway and stood in the threshold waiting for him to follow.</p><p>“Are you going to allow this to slide too?” He demanded, horrified by the sudden turn of events. “When I trust you above all-“</p><p>“Charles!”</p><p>He flinched at the barb in her voice. For a moment, he stood there unsure of what to do. When Mrs. Hughes gestured to the door again, he begrudgingly followed.</p><p>“We are not finished here,” He warned as he retreated.</p><p>“Oh, I heartily agree,” Thomas snapped. As a matter of fact, he was quite willing to go toe to toe anytime when it came to such indignations. Carson could wake him up in the middle of the night and he’d still be ready for a row.</p><p>He made to close the door to the hall, wanting a moment to calm himself. He slammed it, which was unnecessary, but it felt good to vindicate his wrath onto another being. Sitting back down in his ancient chair, for a moment he simply had to let the rage flow through him and try not to scream. Above all, the understanding that Baxter needed him to remain solid and calm kept him grounded. He could vent in private, but not in public… not where it counted.</p><p> </p><p>Over and over again, like a tape reel in his mind, Thomas thought of Baxter… of the foggiest memories he possessed where she seemed to linger like the soft scent of lavender upon a pillow.</p><p>Of his infancy, when she’d held him. How she’d beamed down at him and had tugged at his toes to make him smile.</p><p>Of the very first moments after he’d awoken post-suicide attempt, when he’d been too weak to even scream so that his only mark of consciousness had been the tear tracks upon his sallow cheeks.</p><p>How she’d dabbed at his tears with her own handkerchief, drying his face.</p><p> </p><p>He stood over his desk, seething in rage, and punched the surface with a gnarled fist. The idea of Carson calling Baxter’s baby a bastard (despite the accuracy of the statement) made his blood boil. His knuckles smarted; he winced, shaking his hand out.</p><p> </p><p>A gentle knock at the door spiked his anger: “What?!” He shouted, furious.</p><p> </p><p>The door opened to reveal Richard, who seemed to understand just why Thomas was in a temper.</p><p>“They’re back,” Richard said.</p><p>He didn’t like having shouted at the man, not when he cared for him and relied upon his kindness. He tried to apologize but it seemed that Richard intimately understood.</p><p>“S’fine, Thomas, honestly,” he even smiled, which was certainly more than he deserved at this point. “Heard you arguing with Carson from the servant’s stairwell. Everyone could. Take a moment to sort yourself out, you don’t have to feel guilty for being upset.”</p><p>Christ, Richard was an angel sent directly from heaven.</p><p>“Send them to me,” Thomas re-smoothed his hair, trying to calm himself by shaking out his hands as if his fingers were numb. Over and over, he told himself that regardless of the outcome, all would be well. He could not allow Baxter to imagine otherwise, even for a second.</p><p>Sure enough, his office was besieged by Baxter, who was helped along by both Moseley and Anna. The last to come through was Lady Grantham, who seemed to be quite surprise by the turn of events. Her dinner would have to be served on a tray now. Anna shut the door to the hall, so that they were granted privacy and Thomas came out from around his desk to offer Baxter his guest chair.</p><p>She fell into it, her face a pallid gray. Clearly, they had their answer, whatever it would be.</p><p>“What did he say?” Thomas asked.</p><p>Baxter tried to answer him but failed, too in shock to speak. Instead, she simply met his eyes and nodded. Thomas took a shuddering breath, amazed. So it seemed that she was in fact pregnant despite her age. He raked a hand through his gelled hair, unsure of what to do or say. My god, there was so much to plan now!</p><p>“My god….” He slumped against the edge of his desk, perching there for rest. “But… you’re forty!”</p><p>“Yes,” She would not deny it.</p><p>When no one else made to speak, Lady Grantham stepped forward. Perhaps, as the most detached member of their party, she was the one most capable of making a rational decision.</p><p>“Dr. Clarkson says she needs to be cared for and kept off her feet as much as possible for the next nine months,” Lady Grantham said. “I want O’Brien to continue to look after me.  Anna has agreed to resume helping around the house wherever she can… we’ll swap things up after the baby is born but for right now, I think that’s what’s best so that’s what we’ll do.”</p><p>How good to know that her word was law. Christ, she could be aggravating sometimes.</p><p>Thomas nodded, unable to put up the strength to haggle for a better deal. He didn’t like the idea of Anan being pulled away from her cottage and hotel, but it seemed that she’d already made up her mind.</p><p>She placed a gentle hand upon Baxter’s shoulder and said, “I’ll go get you some tea. It helps me feel better when I’m poorly. Alright?”</p><p>Baxter nodded, still unable to speak. Anna left, shrugging out of her coat as she did so. Moseley was blissful, making hysterical hissing noises as he beamed from one person to the next. Where Baxter was grave, he was over the moon. Really, could anyone blame him? He’d learned that he was to be a father, which was a joy that Thomas could seldom understand. To be frank, he was rather envious of the man. Still, they’d made a pact with one another, and had an understanding to keep Baxter safe. Moseley had treated him with more understanding than Thomas had expected, and he was begrudgingly grateful to the man.</p><p>“Well… I suppose I ought to congratulate you,” Thomas said.</p><p>“I can hardly breath,” Moseley certainly was wheezing enough.</p><p>“Sit down,” Thomas advised. Still he fretted, spinning his bowler hat in his hands like it was a colorful top.</p><p>“Oh, I shouldn’t in front of Lady Grantham,” He bumbled.</p><p>“I don’t mind,” She gave him a sympathetic smile, and he promptly crashed down into Thomas’ other guest chair.</p><p>“My god… I can’t stop smiling!” He beamed. Tomorrow, his face would probably ache.</p><p>“Well, let’s keep this to ourselves as much as possible. Mr. Carson is furious,” Thomas said. Though he would like to run out into the halls proclaiming their newfound joy to every passing stranger, he had to think both of O’Brien and Carson. If only things could be easier for the rest of them…</p><p>Baxter grimaced, her head bowed in shame. Moseley grasped her hand, holding it atop his own thigh.</p><p>“I heard him down the hall,” Lady Grantham agreed, “And I suppose I know why. But Baxter is engaged and soon to be married-“</p><p>“Yes, but she’s not married yet M’lady,” Thomas agreed. “That’s what he finds so difficult. But to me this is glorious news, the best news… and I plan to make my opinion known to the staff in time.”</p><p>“Then I suppose we’ll tell the others?”</p><p>“No, we can’t have O’Brien finding out, M’lady,” Moseley urged. Lady Grantham was taken aback; perhaps she’d imagined that Thomas was the only one to dislike O’Brien. Now hearing it from Moseley’s lips, she was starting to learn that her beloved lady’s maid’s reputation was in tatters.</p><p>“Is there something going on that I need to know about?” She asked, eyes drifting first from Moseley and then to Thomas.</p><p>Moseley caught his gaze; should they say something now? Why not, when they had her ear?</p><p>Thomas gave a minute shake of the head. <em>Let me take the lead on this, </em>he warned. Moseley kept his tongue, as good as gold with his word.</p><p>“Now is not the time, your Ladyship.” Thomas said.</p><p>She pursed her lips, displeased by this sour turn. “I’m the one who wanted her back, I feel like I’ve done you all a poor turn if she’s been behaving improperly.”</p><p><em>Lady, you have no fucking idea, </em>Thomas thought bitterly. She’d done more than a bad turn. She’d essentially shat on their plate and asked them to eat up.</p><p>“Poorly isn’t the word for it, M’lady,” Moseley said under his breath. “And I shouldn’t think to say the appropriate word in front of you or Phyllis.”</p><p>“Well, I’ll speak with her,” she said. Noting Baxter’s soggy mood, she touched her tenderly upon the shoulder with a gloved hand. “And don’t fret. This is a good thing, and nine months from now we’ll be celebrating a healthy baby.”</p><p>“Three,” Thomas griped for both Daisy and Anna were pregnant as well. Christ, he’d have a full house!</p><p>“We’ll have to take on more nursery maids,” Lady Grantham teased. “But I’m tired out, and eager to rest. I’ll say goodnight. Have O’Brien bring me up a tray.”</p><p>As she left, Thomas called out her, “Goodnight, M’lady.”</p><p>She closed the door, looking rather done in for the night. It left Moseley and Thomas alone with Baxter, the three of them speechless at their change of fortune. For some reason, this felt oddly like <em>their </em>baby, despite it actually just being Baxter and Moseley’s. How had he become the third wheel of this odd relationship?</p><p>“So…” Thomas dropped to the balls of his feet again, looking up at Baxter who was still shaken up. “How are you feeling?”</p><p>“Like I might be sick” She whispered. There was terror in her eyes as she looked at him. “If Coyle finds out about this, I’m ruined. He’ll… He’ll do something horrible to my baby-“</p><p>“No, he won’t,” Thomas said in a rush, shaking his head with a smile. “Because I won’t let him, and neither will Moseley.”</p><p>“That’s right,” Moseley agreed. He squeezed Baxter’s hand all the tighter.</p><p>“The only place I’m safe is in this house,” Baxter said, her eyes searching back and forth for some kind of answer. “And I’m so scared to leave it. But even here, I’m worried. What if O’Brien knows more than she’s letting on?”</p><p>The fact of the matter was that O’Brien absolutely did know more than she was letting on, and Baxter was in grave danger no matter if she was inside the house or out. But she couldn’t know this, not in her fragile state. It would tip her over the edge of the abyss. Thomas glanced to Moseley, who at once took up the sword to wage the fight.</p><p>“She doesn’t,” He lied. “She’s a nobody, a nothing, and you don’t have to worry about her. She won’t be here long.”</p><p>“That’s right,” Thomas agreed. “Soon she’ll be gone, and we’ll be well shot of her. Leave it to me.”</p><p>“I’m going to talk to the school about having less classes,” Moseley said to Thomas, “Until the baby is born.”</p><p>“I think that’s wise,” He said. The more eyes on Baxter they had, the better. It gave O’Brien less room to wiggle around, and more chances for them to spot any misgivings.</p><p>“I don’t like her being on the women’s side, so close to O’Brien,” Moseley said. “What do we do?”</p><p>“I’ll have her room with Anna,” Thomas said. “That way she’ll have company at night.”</p><p>“You two are oddly cooperative?” Baxter cocked an eyebrow, perhaps wondering if the whole world had gone mad. Of course, she couldn’t know the full truth… but he supposed it was a little suspicious for them to be rubbing elbows when in the past they’d been nipping at each other’s heels over simple transgressions.</p><p>“We have good reason to be,” Thomas tried not to sound too peculiar. Moseley nodded, patting her hand.</p><p>“that’s right, we’re on the same side now. You’re side.”</p><p>It was enough to put her off the scent, if only for a moment. She bowed her head in thanks, a tiny if genuine smile spreading across her lovely lips.</p><p>“Then how lucky am I?” she declared.</p><p> </p><p>He found himself consumed by the sight of her stomach. He imagined in that moment that the baby was like a tiny luminous pearl. That with time, it would grow into something so much more powerful and bright than he.</p><p>This baby, he knew, would go on to live a happy life. A prosperous life. It would get to finish school (unlike them) and have a career that paid well. They would know love, and good friends, and would have more opportunities than all the rest of them combined.</p><p>For the first time in a long time, Thomas had an excitement for the future.</p><p>“We’re going to have a baby,” Thomas said.</p><p>“Our own baby,” Moseley agreed.</p><p>Baxter touched her stomach, wondering at the flat plains soon to be rounded out. “Our baby.”</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>Baxter’s pregnancy was a blissful sun upon the horizon, whose warmth was only dampened slightly by the fact that Carson had become a scowling snarling shadow of his former self. Denied support by his wife, and unable to get rid of Baxter as elder statesman, he was absolutely livid. After years of being harassed by the man, he knew how to handle a temper tantrum. But it was precisely this sort of experience which warned him that Carson’s anger was far from skin-deep. He could remember how Carson had been upset about Ethel being a prostitute; he’d been pompous just like now… but for some reason it went deeper. Maybe it was simply because Carson wasn’t in control anymore. Maybe it was because he was getting old and he knew that times were changing without him. Back when Thomas had been nothing more than an under butler and destined for the streets, Carson had smugly declared that he was a creature of the past.</p><p>Maybe that had been projection. Maybe Carson had been more scared of losing his way of living than Thomas had realized. Maybe Baxter’s predicament was like the call of the future, warning Carson that the winds were changing and so was the world.</p><p>Maybe that scared the living hell out of him.</p><p> </p><p>About a week after Baxter’s news, Thomas stood in the silver pantry re-polishing the newly fixed serving tray. The tradesman had buffed it, but there were still fingerprints that Thomas could see. This was usually a job for Andrew or Albert, but today Thomas felt like doing it himself. Anything to give him some privacy, and to get him away from Carson’s wrath.</p><p>It was in this haze of polishing meditation that Richard found him, knocking upon the door to enter.</p><p>“Hey,” Richard leaned into the frame of the arching cabinet support, clinging there so that he swung a bit like a monkey. Thomas smiled; head bowed to hide the blush upon his cheeks.</p><p>“Hey yourself,” he teased, setting aside a silver salt and pepper set to start on the tray that held them both when in use.</p><p>“I’ve pulled a few strings,” Richard came to Thomas’ side, and relaxed with his back to the shelves so that they could stand side by side. “Told Lord Grantham that Carson was being an ass. He’s going to speak with him today, an’ hopefully he’ll be able to settle things.”</p><p>It was a long shot, but Thomas appreciated it none the less.</p><p>“Honestly, I doubt it,” But he said it with a gentle smile, “At least, I doubt it’ll do everything we desire. But if anyone on this earth has sway over Carson, it’s Lord Grantham.”</p><p>“Well I try,” Richard gently nudged Thomas, a sort of tic to see if he could annoy him. Thomas grinned, but did not meet Richard’s eyes. He nudged him again. “He’s going to do it in about an hour… d’you want to tell Baxter?”</p><p>“Mm…” Thomas thought of Carson’s fury, and how so often he could be like a bull in a china shop when he got going. Yes, Richard was quite right. Baxter needed to be out of the way lest she become an accidental victim.</p><p>He set his cleaning cloth down and wiped his hands on a new rag. He made to go but was caught by the elbow as Richard glanced over their shoulders, checked the coast was clear, and kissed him sweetly upon the mouth.</p><p>They paused, then kissed again.</p><p>“I’ve also decided that you deserve a break,” Richard whispered the words against his cheek. “So tonight, let’s say around midnight, you are cordially invited to a private event in the cellar.”</p><p>“A private event? Should I change my tie?” He grinned, soothed by the feeling of Richard rubbing his skin with the pad of his thumb.</p><p>“Nah,” Richard kissed him again at the corner of the mouth. “Come just as you are. All that’s required is you.” And just to assure him that all would be well, Richard dipped down and kissed Thomas soundly upon the mouth. This one was deeper and more passionate than the other. A reminder that despite Carson’s crowing and O’Brien’s meddling, things would turn out alright in the end.</p><p>“And that I think is enough of that,” Thomas slipped away from Richard’s grasp and headed into the servant’s hall. Behind him, left in the cupboard, Richard rubbed at his bottom lip with longing, trying to press the memory of Thomas’ kiss there.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>In the servant’s hall, Thomas found Baxter sitting by the fire trying to read a book. Rose was at the piano, spelling out a small tune she must have learned at church. At the far end of the table, O’Brien methodically sewed a lace collar which had become tangled with age. Though her hands were quick, her eyes never strayed from the back of Baxter’s head.</p><p>She was thinking, plotting…</p><p>“Ms. Baxter,” Thomas called out to her. She looked up from the fire, slightly taken aback. It seemed she’d been absorbed in thought. “Come to my office.”</p><p>“More secrets?” O’Brien mused as Baxter came to his beckoning. Baxter bristled, pausing mid-step. She opened her mouth, but Thomas cut her off with a quick command.</p><p>“Do not answer her,” Thomas ordered. Baxter shut her mouth and followed him back down the hallway. They left O’Brien looking thoroughly put out.</p><p>Thomas opened his office only to find that Richard was still inside and playing with the cleaning rag. The cheeky sod was doing his work!</p><p>“Excuse me,” Thomas teased. “What do you think you’re doing.”</p><p>“Oh me?” Richard drawled, polishing a sugar lid with careful fingers. “Nothing… just playing.”</p><p>“Well don’t drop it or I’ll wallop you,” Thomas smiled, taking his seat behind his desk. Baxter observed their banter but seemed incapable of finding humor in it. She was far too stressed, exhausted to the point that she could not speak without great force.</p><p>“Mr. Carson is going to speak with Lord Grantham in about an hour,” Thomas explained to her. “Richard’s squared it away… Lord Grantham is going to make sure Carson understands he’s being a pillock.”</p><p>Baxter would not meet his eyes, twisting her hands painfully upon her frock. “I doubt it.”</p><p>“Give Lord Grantham some credit,” Richard advised, starting on the back of the lid. “Carson practically worships him.”</p><p>“It’s not Lord Grantham I doubt,” Baxter explained. “It’s the gravity of my sins. I’ve written to my family, telling them of my circumstances, and my mother is on the verge of disowning me.”</p><p>Thomas was suddenly reminded of a pained woman with a pinch face and long gray hair wrapped tight in a bun. He hadn’t thought of Mrs. Baxter in years. Cor, the last time he’d seen her he’d been 13!</p><p>“Your mother was an old cow even when we were children,” He complained irritably. Baxter did not make to refute him. “Who cares what she bloody well thinks?”</p><p>Baxter did not meet his eyes, taking her time before sadly replying in a small little voice. “Me.”</p><p>Thomas winced, put in his place. He supposed after years of shunting other’s opinions (particularly family), he’d forgotten that most people actually cared about their parents.</p><p>“I’ve been thinking…” She paused, having to steel herself. “Maybe I’ve made a horrible mistake.”</p><p>He cocked his head, “What do you mean?”. By the cupboard, Richard had finished with the sugar lid but hadn’t made to put it down. He was listening intently, but trying to blend into the background.</p><p>“...Maybe… I shouldn’t have…” she touched her stomach but said nothing more.</p><p>Thomas’ stomach began to twist at her words. The idea of her baby being a mistake was far too close to despair for his liking.</p><p>“What, because of this?” He gestured about, though in truth he was referencing Carson and her mother. “People will always find something to talk about, that’s never going to change. Today, it’s you. Tomorrow, who knows? But nothing will ever take away how special this baby is to us. Yes?”</p><p>Instead of agreeing however, Baxter remained silent. It unnerved him even more.</p><p>“…Please tell me you believe me,” He begged.</p><p>She swallowed around a knot in her throat, “I’m trying.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It was a disturbing turn about of play. There had been a time when Baxter had been the one to urge him to believe. To have faith in what felt like the impossible. He wondered if she felt as nervous as he, when she’d tried to comfort him. If she’d felt like every word she spoke must be correct lest terrible danger lay siege. Their situations were not similar, however. Baxter has chosen to sleep with Moseley, and had done so with the intimate knowledge that she might become pregnant. Thomas, on the other hand, had been tossed about like a ship on rocky waves through life’s ugly hurdles. By having agency over her fate, and directly causing it to take a difficult turn, perhaps Baxter felt all the worse. Perhaps she considered herself soiled goods, never to be redeemable.</p><p>It was all the more reason to keep her far from Carson’s grasp.</p><p>“Why don’t you go take a nap,” He urged. “I’ll come and wake you when Carson’s buggered off. Sound good?”</p><p>She didn’t look happy, but at least it would give her a second to relax and keep her away from Carson until he’d regained control of his flapping mouth.</p><p>“Thank you, Mr. Barrow,” Baxter turned and left, her gate slow and melancholy. As she carefully shut the door behind her, Thomas and Richard turned to look at one another.</p><p>“Christ almighty,” Richard swore, sugar lid in hand. “She needs cheering up and quick.”</p><p>“What do women like?” He asked. “Biscuits? Gin? Stoats?”</p><p>But unfortunately for them, neither knew what to get a woman when she was down (or up for that matter). Baffled, they had no choice but to return to their tasks.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>About three hours later, as Thomas decanted wine for the family’s dinner, he heard the telltale sound of the backdoor bell ringing. The grumbling and patronizing voice that drifted from the hallway left little to question; Carson had arrived for his telling off with Lord Grantham. Thomas did not exit his office, and instead allowed himself to be content with his menial chores. Yet after about half an hour, with no sign of Carson returning downstairs, Thomas started to get terribly nervous. What if Lord Grantham couldn’t sway Carson as easily as he’d believed? What if Baxter would suffer all the more for Richard’s meddling?</p><p><em>I’ll give it fifteen more minutes, </em>Thomas thought to himself, wiping the lip of the decanter clean. <em>Then I’ll go upstairs and check. </em></p><p>Fifteen minutes had not passed, however, before a curt knock came at his door followed by the figure of Mrs. Hughes, who was ashen with dismay.</p><p>“You’d better come with me,” Mrs. Hughes said. “He’s up in the rafters.”</p><p>Delightful.</p><p> </p><p>Thomas let out an irritated groan, carefully re-smoothing his hair and heading out his office door to lock it swiftly behind him. He still didn’t like leaving it open with O’Brien skulking around the house.</p><p>“Thomas, Mr. Carson is terribly angry,” she lamented as they mounted the stairs. “I can’t seem to make him see sense. He’s been behaving most peculiarly.”</p><p>Peculiarly wasn’t a word that Thomas would have used. Plonker, jackass, steaming pile of shit? All of these things seemed more on point. But if he was honest with himself, Carson had been acting a little overly strict. Why? Was it really because Thomas was the butler now, or was there more to it?</p><p>They reached the library door, beyond which muffled voices could be heard going back and forth. Thomas straightened his tie, noting that Mrs. Hughes was dithering at his elbow like she expected him to make this worse.</p><p>“Don’t worry,” Thomas advised her. “I’m a professional at handling Mr. Carson like this. I should practically put it on my character.”</p><p>Inside his head, Thomas told himself: <em>I am cold, I am heartless, I am untouchable. </em></p><p>And with that, he opened the library door to step inside. Mrs. Hughes did not dare enter, too nervous with Carson in a temper and the subject so sore.</p><p> </p><p>Carson was already red-faced, but he surely hadn’t been shouting at Lord Grantham. The master of the abbey was upon his couch, soaking up a gin and tonic and looking ready to throw in the towel. It seemed that compromise could not be found between the pair, which left Thomas to be the break even.</p><p>At the sight of Thomas, Carson flew into another fit. If he was hoping to hurt Thomas’ feelings, he was going to be disappointed.</p><p>“And look who it is!” Carson gestured to Thomas. “Judas himself!”</p><p>“And who are you? Christ?” He sneered. “Should I kiss you on the cheek? At least I’d get some silver for it.”</p><p>“Don’t you dare get uppity with me!” Carson snapped, “When you’re the one making all this worse! You should be beaten with a rake!”</p><p>It was far too close to ‘horsewhipped’ for comfort. With Richard in the basement and Baxter sleeping in the attics, Thomas’ tongue was sharper than usual. He stormed over to the enormous fireplace, where a set of fireplace tools sat to the side.</p><p>“Ah, well, the rake’s all the way in the shed but look-!” He snatched the poker from the set, brandishing it at Carson who reacted as if he’d flung a snake at him. “Here’s a poker! You can jam it in the fire and get it hot enough to really do damage!”</p><p>“Damn you, you impudent little snake!” he shouted, purple in the face.</p><p>“Listen to the pair of you!” Lord Grantham stood up, getting between them before damage was done. “Thomas put down that poker at once. Carson, control yourself. I will not have such uncivil tones in my library. I should have thought better of you two.”</p><p>Thomas bitterly put the poker back down. Carson raked a hand over his face, sweating and trembling in his rage.</p><p>“Now, as the butler of this house, I want to know what Barrow has to say regarding Ms. Baxter’s difficult news,” Lord Grantham said. “And you have agreed to give him that courtesy. Are you going back on your word?”</p><p>But Carson would not listen to reason, “I have already heard what he has to say, M’lord, and I will not hear it again! He is excusing the worst of the worst, simply because it’s Ms. Baxter! Because he likes her!”</p><p>“Yes, I believe that is exactly what happened when Bates was thrown in prison for murder!” Thomas cut across. Carson’s pouchy cheeks flushed a delicate pink; even Lord Grantham looked stung.</p><p>“Was that not what occurred?” He challenged. Neither man was able to refute him. “You held onto him because you liked him and trusted him. Or shall we go into when poor Anna was thrown into jail for no good reason? You were friendly with her, so you didn’t have her kicked out. Maybe you forget that Lady Rosamunde’s maid was shocked we let Bates still be a member of our staff. Or how Lady Grantham’s mother was so irritated—because I do not! Now it is my turn in command, and those that I care for are given special treatment. That’s how this works. You cannot have your cake and eat it too. You must either admit you cannot take favorites and that you were wrong to shield the Bates, or you must allow me to shield Ms. Baxter and drop this whole façade of pompous righteousness.”</p><p>And now that he was on a roll, he simply had to know: “Who is this for?! Me? Lord Grantham? Mrs. Hughes? Who are you so angry for?”</p><p>“Society!” Carson blurted out. Lord Grantham seemed exhausted by the very word. He had to school his expression into something benign before either servant could claim a side.</p><p>“Carson, times are changing,” Lord Grantham protested. “We must be able to adapt with them or we will inevitably be left behind. We’ve talked about this before-“</p><p>“But where are we to draw the line, M’lord?” he protested.</p><p>“That is not for me to say, nor you,” Lord Grantham reminded. “But this case is not the time to draw a hard edge in my opinion. Do I approve of Ms. Baxter and Mr. Moseley’s actions? No. But am I glad for Moseley that he’s to be a father? Yes. I know that they will both be wonderful parents. Don’t you agree?”</p><p>Carson was burned by Lord Grantham’s words. He looked away, scalded.</p><p>“Regardless of Baxter’s prior sins, she is at her core a good woman and will care for the child. Can we truly ask for more when so many children in this world are born to parents who treat them cruelly? Don’t you agree with that at least?”</p><p>“Well…yes… but…” Carson flustered, cheeks going pink again,” They should have waited!”</p><p>“They should have, but they didn’t.” there could be no denying this. “And that’s just the way things are.”</p><p>Lord Grantham was not the only one looking exhausted. In his desperation to uphold the moral fiber of society, Charles Carson had wasted a great deal of energy. Now, he was left with none to spare for himself and looked a bit like a deflated tire.</p><p>“Why don’t you go downstairs and speak with them?” Lord Grantham offered. “Set the record straight, congratulate them and announce their good news to the rest of the staff.”</p><p>Warning bells were vibrating in Thomas’ head; he didn’t want O’Brien to know!</p><p>“M’lord, perhaps we should wait until Mr. Moseley and Ms. Baxter are ready to speak?” Thomas offered. But Lord Grantham knew nothing about the dangers of their situation, and so was unconcerned.</p><p>“No, I think this is best,” Lord Grantham decided. “Carson has set out a poor image, so now he must correct it. This is the perfect way to do it.”</p><p>Now Carson and Thomas were both panicking, each for their own reasons. Sensing his apprehension, Lord Grantham tried to console his old butler.</p><p>“Carson, you don’t have to like it, but you do have to respect it,” Lord Grantham advised. “This is a baby we’re speaking about. Not an adder. If you cannot have compassion for the mother, have compassion for the child. It deserves none of your wrath, nor mine.”</p><p>And at this, Carson finally had to agree. He bowed his head demurely: “Of course, M’lord.”</p><p>Lord Grantham dismissed them both with a wave of the hand.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It was terribly awkward, to leave the library after shouting Carson down like an errant child. Stuck in the great hall with him and Mrs. Hughes, Thomas had a burning taste in his mouth followed by a slight chest pain. He was so stressed out, he’d given himself indigestion. What a treat.</p><p>“Well?” Mrs. Hughes prompted the pair of them. “Are we friends again?”</p><p>Thomas jerked a thumb towards the green baize door in the corner. This was less of a command, and more of a determination to get out of earshot of the family. It would never do for servants to be seen gossiping and milling about on the ground floor, particularly when the family were using it. If they wanted to hash it out like normal people, they’d have to do it where none of the family could be seen.</p><p>They didn’t want to go and give the family notions that they had <em>feelings </em>after all. They were members of the working class.</p><p>In the stairwell, the three of them were quite an awkward bunch. They had to press themselves flat against the railing to let a maid go upstairs with linens.</p><p>“Well, this day has taken a most unpleasant turn,” Carson muttered. “His Lordship now wishes for me to tell the rest of the staff and congratulate them of all things.”</p><p>“How very kind of him,” Mrs. Hughes’ voice had taken a hard edge perhaps hoping to silently reprimand her husband. She certainly was glaring at him enough to do the job. “And it was good of him to trust you with such a lovely task. But I can’t find Ms. Baxter-“</p><p>“She’s upstairs sleeping, I gave her leave,” Thomas said. “We’ll keep her out of this.”</p><p>“…But this is her news,” Mrs. Hughes was confused. “She needs to be there, and Mr. Moseley, to receive the other’s congratulations. Don’t you agree?”</p><p>Now he was stuck between a rock and a hard place; he didn’t want her exposed to danger, but no one else even knew there was danger.</p><p>Now Mrs. Hughes was glaring at him too. “Honestly, from feast to famine, I’m spoiled for choice. If I’m the only sensible one in this group anymore then I’ll go and collect Ms. Baxter myself and see you downstairs.”</p><p>“But-“ Thomas protests fell on deaf ears as Mrs. Hughes stalked up the stairs, he was left gaping like a fool with Carson watching him quizzically. Perhaps he was wondering if Thomas was actually on his side after all.</p><p>“Coming around?” Carson sneered. Thomas slowly turned to glare at the man, wishing he could fry him alive just with his sight alone.</p><p>“Carson… bite me,” he declared. For all the venom that he held, it was clear the man would if he only could.</p><p>The pair of them stalked downstairs, stiff, and tight shouldered. Thomas saw Moseley first, speaking with Richard by the counter who was showing him something in a rag. Thomas gestured to both, side stepping Albert who was passing with a bucket full of fresh coal to nab them before anyone else could.</p><p>“Mr. Barrow,” Mr. Moseley said. “How did it go?”</p><p>“Oh it well jolly well,” He hissed, leaning in so that no one else could hear but the pair. “Lord Grantham wants Carson to announce the news to the rest of the staff, including O’Brien! I can’t get him to stop without revealing the rest-“</p><p>“Christ,” Richard rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “When it rains it pours.”</p><p>“Maybe we can get her out of the room,” Moseley advised.</p><p>“How?”</p><p>“Well… say… say that someone is asking for her at the door,” Moseley offered. But this wouldn’t work, and each man knew it. The walk to the door was too short. By the time that O’Brien got there, enough time wouldn’t have passed to give them an edge. What was more, she’d end up finding out anyways simply by being in the rest of the house.</p><p>No, they were fucked good and proper.</p><p> </p><p>As if on cue, the little harbinger of doom that she was, Mrs. Hughes appeared with a tousled Baxter. She was bleary eyed and blinked sleepily at them all. She found her corner and came to it, hiding at Mr. Moseley’s side. It took her a moment to put a hand to her head; she smoothed little hairs that had come loose from her bun.</p><p>“Do you feel any better?” Thomas asked. She shook her head, quite miserable.</p><p>“If I may have everyone’s attention?” Mr. Carson called out. His tone commanded silence and respect, both of which were given in abundance. At the table, Bates and Anna straightened up. Andy stepped into the servant’s hall, hanging carefully at the edge of the door with Albert at this side. The housemaids, coming and going, were beckoned one after another until they all stood just outside watching and waiting. Mrs. Patmore came out of the kitchen with Daisy. She was still worse for wear. Soon, just about everyone was gathered… and at the back of the room sat O’Brien with maliciously gleaming eyes.</p><p>She knew something was up. Like a monster, it seemed that she could smell blood on the air.</p><p> </p><p>“Lord Grantham has requested for me to announce the news that Mr. Moseley and Ms. Baxter… are expecting.”</p><p> </p><p>Whatever Carson had been thinking the reaction of the others would be, perhaps bitter disdain or ugly curiosity, he was sorely disappointed. The first one to react was Mrs. Patmore, with a delighted gasp and sparkling eyes.</p><p>“You never-!” She declared.</p><p>“I feel awful, I already knew,” Anna teased from the table, clasping Mr. Bates’ hand atop it.</p><p>“As did I,” He said.</p><p>“But this is wonderful!” Mrs. Patmore praised, “Have you told Mr. Moseley senior?”</p><p>“I did, yesterday,” Moseley spoke up. “He’s over the moon. He called and told my sister, she’s delirious with joy! Her daughter’s about Gertie’s age, and she’s excited to have her own baby to play with.”</p><p>“I can’t believe it!” Daisy wondered. “This is amazing. Mr. Moseley’s to be a father; what a lucky baby! I can’t wait to hold it.”</p><p>Carson looked like he might be sick. Now all the others were chiming in, and though a few of the maids were scandalized, they were swiftly soothed by Mrs. Hughes.</p><p>“We all feel the same,” She assured them.</p><p>O’Brien, at the back of the room, was the first to spot trouble. She lifted her chin, eyeing Carson up, and said, “Don’t you agree, Mr. Carson? You haven’t congratulated the couple.”</p><p>Thomas looked at Carson and observed how green his complexion was. Like he wanted to vomit into the first bin that he saw. “Congratulations,” he said, but his voice did not hold weight and his eyes would not meet Moseley’s.</p><p>“You don’t sound contrite, Mr. Carson-“</p><p>“thank you, Ms. O’Brien that is more than enough,” Mrs. Hughes cut her off, but the damage was done. Thomas watched as something drained from Moseley’s eyes. Something long held and deeply understood, like the man’s entire world had been shaken to the core.</p><p>And then, Thomas realized what he was seeing: it was Moseley’s faith in Carson leaving him.</p><p>It put an awful, bitter taste in his mouth. He did not want this for Moseley. He did not want it for anybody. Not when he’d felt it so often himself—</p><p>Wait… what?</p><p>Thomas bristled, brow furrowing deep in thought. Where had that idea come from? How long had it been planted inside him, waiting to sprout up at the right moment?</p><p>He’d had faith in Carson once? How had he lost it, and why?</p><p>“Well, it doesn’t matter what you think,” Thomas spoke up. It was bitter and ugly, but it gave him power in that moment. Carson wouldn’t meet his eyes either, a man shunned in his once great shadow. “I’m the butler now, and I’m delighted.”</p><p>He looked to Baxter, who was watching him with a sad sort of hope. As if she knew exactly why he was saying these things, and the toll it really took on his mental health to do so.</p><p>“I’m going to be a….” Thomas paused, unsure of exactly what he was going to be.</p><p>“An uncle?” Moseley supplied.</p><p>It was the best he could hope for in this peculiar situation.</p><p>“I’m going to be an uncle of a beautiful baby from my closest companion,” He declared, gazing upon Baxter fondly. “Today is a fabulous day.”</p><p>The others tittered, with Richard making it better with a gentle jab. “If you find the baby missing from it’s pram, you know who to ask.”</p><p>The others laughed, Thomas grinning and ducking his head in slight embarrassment. Suddenly he was having dreams of pushing a pram about the village, with the sun shining down and—Christ he was getting emotional over a baby that wasn’t his.</p><p>“I’m going to be a father!” Moseley was giddy, proclaiming his delight to the others.</p><p>“As am I,” Andy said with a grin. Bates at the table was less easy to enthuse.</p><p>“Technically I already am one,” Bates took a final sip of tea, draining it dry and putting it back on the table.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, why not go get a little something to celebrate, Mr. Barrow?” Mrs. Patmore had a merry twinkle in her eye that usually meant mischief. Today, Thomas would allow it.</p><p>“I’ll go get a bottle of champagne,” Thomas pretended not to notice Carson slinking off, the unwanted Spector at the feast. “For all of us. Three babies, cor, what are we coming to? Every woman that can be pregnant is pregnant, ‘cept for Gertie.” He pointed a waggling finger at the scullery maid whose cheeks turned bright pink.</p><p>“Don’t you get any ideas!” he teased in a naughty voice.</p><p>“I wouldn’t dare Mr. Barrow!” She cried out.</p><p>“Aha, that’s what they all say,” He wouldn’t hear a word of it, but he smiled all the same. Now everyone was laughing, and he was the cause of it. But the victory was hollow and left in the defeat of Carson’s shadow.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Carson left soon after that.</p><p>Though Mrs. Hughes had bade him to take tea with him in her office, he’d declined and claimed to have an upset stomach. In truth, he’d merely looked constipated. Thomas cracked open a bottle of champagne, with each member of staff toasting their expectant mothers to be. Anna was glowing, Daisy was giddy, but Baxter was just plain embarrassed and denied a glass fearing for the baby’s health.</p><p>Dinner that night with the family was spent dwelling on the topic of Branson and Talbot’s car shop, which was soon to receive a new shipment of automobiles straight from America. Downstairs, as break was broken and beef soup dished out, the talk was all about babies. Thomas understood nothing about cars nor babies, so he found it deadly dull; his only entertainment came from watching O’Brien like a hawk and keeping Baxter’s spirits up. It was exhausting to constantly try to boost her enthusiasm when his own was so heavily drained. His relief was in the form of Richard, who after dinner shared a cup of coffee and a card game with him. This was their nightly routine, to camp out in the corner until everyone else had gone to bed. Tonight, however, after three card games Richard excused himself saying he wanted a breath of fresh air. Though Thomas offered to follow, Richard declined with a wink.</p><p>Unwilling to read into that, Thomas returned to his office and finished up the nightly inventory of paid bills.</p><p>About half an hour later, Thomas bade Mrs. Hughes goodnight for the evening and sent Baxter to bed with Moseley right behind her. He then locked up all the doors, noting that Richard was back inside and looking most smug about something. He returned to his office, and prepared to snuff out the light, but was stopped mid-errand by the arrival of Richard who knocked gently upon his door frame.</p><p>“Everyone gone up?” Thomas asked.</p><p>“Just about,” Richard relaxed in the door frame, a gentle loping grace about him putting Thomas entirely at ease. “I’m here to cordially invite you to the basement.”</p><p>What an offer, he’d never been so wooed. “Really.”</p><p>“Really,” Richard even tipped his head as if he were a gentleman of honor. “Except I need a bit of help.”</p><p>“How so?” Relaxing in his swivel chair, Thomas capped and un-capped his favorite ink pen; the methodical clicking sound soothed him.</p><p>“The pantry keys.”</p><p>“The pantry key,” Thomas repeated; it was fun to put an awful sing-song tone, as if Richard were asking for too much and Thomas would never give it. “Well that is a shame, because I can’t give it out.” He smiled, tilting his head towards the hooks on the wall where rows of keys hung including one with a red ribbon tied at the hilt. “I’d like to tell you it’s the one with the red ribbon on the ring, but I can’t.”</p><p>Richard reached out and took the key off the wall to pocket it.</p><p>Thomas gave a false start of confusion, “Why… where did my key go?”</p><p>“Mrs. Hughes is using it,” Richard said with a smile. Mrs. Hughes, however, had been gone for about fifteen minutes.</p><p>“Ah, that explains it. Thank you.” He uncapped his ink pen again and re-opened his calendar. He had nothing better to do than doodle on the fringes of the page, but he was in charge and he could do what he liked.</p><p>He had a dinner date to look forward to tonight, by the sounds of it.</p><p> </p><p>Thomas kept a patient eye on the clock, and when the time neared 11:45, he closed up his office and headed to the kitchens to see who was left. The only two were Gertie and Mrs. Patmore; the former was hanging up her apron on a wall hook and bade Thomas goodnight as she passed. Mrs. Patmore herself was exhausted, rubbing at her eyes which she finished copying a recipe from an aged volume that was two minutes away from crumbling into dust.</p><p>“Everyone else gone up?” Mrs. Patmore asked.</p><p>“Seems that way. I’ll close up, you go to bed.” Thomas said. This might have sounded like a sweetness, but it was in truth a selfishness. He wanted to be alone with Richard; he wanted to see how it felt to know peace. To be happy, and normal.</p><p>“Goodnight,” She left, completely unaware that Thomas was up to mischief. As he watched her retreat upstairs, he stood for far too long until even the echoes of her steps had faded.</p><p>He wanted to be absolutely sure. In these awful times, there could be no room for error.</p><p>When he was at last entirely alone, he headed for the basement. There were two sets of keys to get in. Richard had his, and though Mrs. Hughes did not know it, Thomas had stolen hers. He used it to open the door and lock it behind him, completely secure with the knowledge they would not be interrupted.</p><p>He didn’t entirely know what to expect. In his life, Thomas had never been courted and whatever promenades he might have taken with another man had always been hasty affairs. Stuck with the idea that he could take his time, Thomas’ romantic notions were running wild. The only thing that batted them back was his undying pessimism which warned him not to get his hopes up.</p><p>Whatever Richard had waiting for him, he would accept without flaw.</p><p> </p><p>Down the stairs Thomas went, following a golden trail of light which led to the back of the basement. A heavy wooden barricade kept the simple wines from the champagnes which required a different climate to keep safe. Thomas saw the golden light flickering under the sill and paused with his hand on the doorknob.</p><p><em>Whatever he has waiting for me will be more than worth it, </em>Thomas said. He opened the door and pushed his way inside.</p><p> </p><p>There, in the center of the floor amongst a pallet of simple blankets that were used to keep horses warm in winter, was Richard. About him, scattered in a wide circle, were the spoils he’d plundered from the pantry. He’d pulled out wine, glasses, a smattering of cheeses that were meant for the upstairs during dinners, and figs. Most touching of all, Richard had somehow managed to scrounge roses from Lady Grantham’s personal gardens. This was perhaps the most devious of all his smuggles because the roses were a sign of the house’s austerity. Usually they were reserved for the flower shows or stately dinners. Now they were sitting in a silver basin that Richard had snuck from the pantry.</p><p>Thomas’ face ached; he didn’t realize why until it occurred to him that he was smiling.</p><p>“Welcome,” Richard said; he’d undone his tie so that it hung like a scarf about his neck.</p><p>“What is this?” He declared, gesturing to it all.</p><p>“Some well-deserved alone time,” He declared. He patted the blanket beside him, a clear invitation for Thomas to sit down. “I’m afraid this restaurant has a clear dress code. No jacket, no shoes… no ties.”</p><p>“No service?” He teased but took off his jacket all the same. Hanging it upon a broken pallet that once carried the weight of an entire champagne crate, Thomas undid his tie and toed off his shoes. He plopped down beside Richard, melting at the chance to relax.</p><p>Richard poured him a glass of wine and toasted him with his own. “The children are in bed, the oven is cold, and the dog has been let out. Let’s give ourselves a pat on the back….” They clinked rims, “Uncle Thomas.”</p><p>He laughed and took a sip of wine; it was warm and fragrant upon his tongue. “I know… what a gas. I can’t stop smiling.”</p><p>“I like it.”</p><p>He looked and saw Richard admiring him as if he were painted in rose glass. It was rather silly.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Your smile,” Richard took a sip of wine. He blushed, embarrassed by the idea.</p><p>“Flatterer.”</p><p>“No, I mean it,” Richard then reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Thomas was surprised to find that it was the same paper he’d kissed, nights ago. “I keep it in my pocket all day.”</p><p>Tit for tat… Thomas reached beneath his bib plate, only to have to untie it and cast it aside, to pull out the pendant that Richard had given him back during the royal visit. It was warm from laying close to his skin all day.</p><p>“All this time?” he wondered.</p><p>“Of course,” Thomas let it lay freely upon his chest, cooling in the air. “I never take it off. I like to feel you during the day.”</p><p>Mulling over a piece of white cheddar, Richard looked Thomas up and down as if he was more succulent than the wine they were drinking. Thomas ate a few grapes, playing with one of the roses that Richard had stolen.</p><p>“You’re such a thief, you know that Lady Grantham would have your head for this?”</p><p>“Tell me about yourself,” Richard refused to acknowledge the other. But what was there to say?</p><p>“Me?”</p><p>“Mhmm. I want to know everything about you.”</p><p>“Oh god, not everything,” He bemoaned, thinking of all the spoiled years of his youth. What a way to ruin a date. “It’s a bit naff, if I’m honest.”</p><p>“Doubt it.”</p><p>“Well tell me about you first,” Thomas said.</p><p>Richard shrugged, popping another piece of cheese in his mouth. As he spoke, he rolled up his shirt sleeves to show off his tanned forearms. Thomas was obsessed with the muscles he found there.</p><p>“Not much to know,” Richard said. “Grew up in York. Worked at Hanlith Hall for Lord Sergeantson as a hall boy at first. Then a footman. Then I fell in love and I had to leave.”</p><p>“Oh god-“ It brought back awful memories of Jimmy and his past sins. But Richard was quick to put him at ease; perhaps in his travels, he’d heard more ‘Jimmy’ like tales than Thomas took for granted.</p><p>“No, not like that,” Richard assured. “He was a tailor in York; especially important, very wealthy. He liked the look of me an’ I him. We had a lot of fun. I was his apprentice for several years, valeted here and there, made my own pieces… but my reputation got too big for him. I started to outshine him, an’ he got resentful.” Richard paused, lost in a memory, before continuing on. “one night, I was down at a club called The White Lion. It’s for men like us; I’ll take you there. I was approached by a very handsome man… an’ I cheated.”</p><p>He shrugged, aware that the reveal didn’t necessarily paint him in a good light. “I shouldn’t have but I did. An’ that man turned out to be the footman for the King of England.”</p><p>“Wow,” Now it all made sense. He tried to imagine what that night must have been like, coming home to the tailor only to tell him he was leaving.</p><p>“It was one hell of a meltdown. Had all my shit thrown out into the street in the middle of the day… Tried to keep my calm and weaseled my way into a job with the footman. Worked my way up to valet… You know the rest,” Richard smiled.</p><p> </p><p>“So… Was he one of those pricks that came up from London?”</p><p>“God no,” Richard shuddered at the idea, re-filling his wine glass. “No, he moved on ages ago. I wouldn’t have slept with that lot if you paid me.”</p><p>Frankly neither would Thomas.</p><p>“How about you?” Richard asked. “I spilled my guts, you spill yours.”</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t pleasant, to remember his life. Thomas tried to keep his tone calm, not wanting Richard to feel the pain that lingered there.</p><p>“For a while, I was homeless,” He admitted, “I took any job I could find. Then, a Mr. Edgar Wallace found me and trained me to be a ball boy at Burghwallis Hall. He was a kind man; I might have stayed there, but he wanted more for me. He said a friend, Mr. Charles Carson, wanted a footman an’ put me forward for the job. I’ve been here ever since. It’s been a fuckin’ nightmare though, I’ll tell you that. I’ve been a footman, a valet, an underbutler.”</p><p>“We had one of those,” Richard chimed in.</p><p>“Yeah,” He scoffed. “Because you served the royal family; makes sense for you. For a house this small? Give me a break. Even now as the butler, I don’t feel safe.”</p><p>But Richard wasn’t upset. He just smiled and said “I understand.”</p><p>Maybe he knew, despite how Thomas tried, that it was painful. Maybe after serving here for a month or so, he’d come to understand just why Carson put the fear of God in him.</p><p>“What about love?” Richard asked. Thomas grimaced; if his life story wasn’t off putting, the history of his love life certainly would be.</p><p>“Nothing worth telling,” He shrugged. “A dalliance with a duke… a hit an’ miss with a blind soldier who ended up committing suicide… an’ the worst fuckin’ mistake of my life,” He said, thinking of Jimmy.</p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“Tell me,” Richard was clearly delighted by the macabre. But there was more to it; he was concerned too, and perhaps like before he could tell that there was more pain than Thomas was letting on.</p><p>“… Jimmy Kent,” Thomas explained. “That was his name.” He chugged back the rest of his wine to silently ask for more. If he was going to tell this story, he’d need a glass.</p><p>Richard poured him a full one,” Okay, what did Mr. Kent do?”</p><p>“Nothing,” Thomas shrugged, because that was really the point wasn’t it? “Absolutely sodding nothing. Back when O’Brien was originally in the house, before she left the first time, she an’ I were at each other’s throats. I guess I’d realized for years she’d been conning me, pretending to be my friend but really just wanting to control me. So, I was rude to her nephew who was footman. Jimmy was the other footman, an’ I was utterly in love with him. She played me, lied to me, an’ told me that Jimmy went on an’ on about me. That he was in love with me… Doe eyed for me.”</p><p>Richard narrowed his eyes, brow furrowing at the idea of such malicious trickery.</p><p>“He wasn’t,” Thomas continued on. “He wasn’t even like us. It got worse an’ worse, an’ one night I outright said ‘I love you’ by accident. An’ his reply was something like ‘if you do, you’re the only one’. God, I was such a fucking fool. That night, when everyone was in bed asleep, I did something I should have never done. Something that ended up nearly ruining my life.”</p><p>He paused, meeting Richard’s eyes. He was fully focused, with a burning intensity to his gaze. There was no judgement there, only a deep desire to know and understand.</p><p>“I trust O’Brien, threw caution to the wind, and kissed him in his sleep.”</p><p>A flicker of shock crossed Richard’s handsome face.</p><p>“Jesus Christ,” He whispered. “What happened?”</p><p>“Well… he went berserk. He wasn’t going to tell Carson at first, but O’Brien wound him up and said if he didn’t everyone would assume he was like us. So, then he wanted me let go without a reference.”</p><p>Richard made a disgusted noise under his breath, turning away. “Fucking bastard,” he whispered to no one.</p><p>“He was alright in the end, once we got O’Brien to back off… but it was hard for many years after that. I lost my position and was kept on as underbutler which meant I was unnecessary and frankly a strain on the budget. So, after that I just stopped…. Trying.” He shrugged, feeling rather foolish now that he’d admitted everything out in the open. “I even tried to change myself.”</p><p>“How?” Richard asked.</p><p>“I went to this place in York, a ‘Choose your own path’.”</p><p>“Oh fuckin’ hell,” He complained loudly. Clearly, he’d heard of it as well. “Not that load of shite.”</p><p>“So, you’ve seen it?”</p><p>“I’ve had a friend who was duped into it. It nearly killed him from sepsis.” Richard was getting uncomfortable now, as if his skin were crawling. “But why do it, Thomas? Why go and do something so horrid like that?”</p><p>“I dunno, I was tired!” When had their date turned into an argument? Thomas’ cheeks flushed, his tone dropping in sincerity. “Honestly, Richard I… I didn’t want to fight anymore. I was tired. I’d been beaten so many times, I just… gave up.” He realized, in retrospect, that this made him sound a bit like a putz or a pity case. Neither inspired the romantic mood. “I’m sorry that’s not a very romantic picture is it? But you deserve the truth.”</p><p>Richard was careful, his expression never betraying a hint of anger or repulsion. Instead, he calmly asked. “And what about Christopher? You certainly had a dance with him.”</p><p>“that was a bizarre chance,” he agreed. “And one that I did not foresee happening in a thousand lifetimes. He was the first man since 1914 to even have an interest in me-“</p><p>“No, he wasn’t.” Thomas noted that Richard was still watching him with those beautiful eyes, perhaps well aware that every fiber of Thomas’ being hung upon his words.</p><p>“I was,” Richard said. “I was in love with you from the moment you told me to pull the wool over my boss.”</p><p>He scoffed, wondering at what that said about Richard’s character. He supposed they were rather similar in their devious streak.</p><p>Richard sat down his wine glass, staring at him. There was something… powerful in his gaze. Something that Thomas could not ignore. He was calling out to him, wanting him closer. Needing his touch.</p><p>And so, when Richard leaned in to kiss him, Thomas did not pull away.</p><p>For a moment, they merely touched lips, meeting and parting as softly and methodically as a wave lapping upon a shore. But then, Richard leaned even more so that Thomas was beginning to bow backwards. He felt Richard cup the back of his neck, and quite suddenly they were laying upon the pallet with Richard atop him.</p><p>Richards’ hands ran along his body, not chasing or perverted but desperate for knowledge. At the apex of his thighs, Thomas felt an obvious hardening that made him groan; his eyes rolled into the back of his head at the thought of Richard’s manhood so close to him.</p><p>So very very close.</p><p>“I want to…. But you deserve more,” Richard was husky in his ear.</p><p>“We don’t get more,” Thomas kissed along his jaw, sucking at the warmed flesh he found there.</p><p>“Yes, we do. You will get more than this, I swear it.”</p><p>“You’re daft.”</p><p>“Maybe… but I’m daft for you.” When Richard pulled back a little, Thomas was able to look into his eyes clearly. Forearms framing Thomas’ face, Richard lowered his head so that their noses gently pressed together.</p><p>“I dunno why I love you so much, but I do.” Richard tilted his head contemplating his own silliness. “You’re like this fairy to me. You’re otherworldly.”</p><p>If any other man on earth had called him a fairy, Thomas would have smacked them in the eye. Richard got a free pass, particularly when he was being so dear. Thomas smiled sweetly, amused by his antics.</p><p>“I want to treat you to all these fine things but… well… you know how it goes.”</p><p>“Richard, look where we are right now,” He praised. “You’ve made me a paradise in this basement. This is more than I’ve ever been given by anyone.”</p><p>“It’s nothing compared to what I’ll give you in future.”</p><p> It wasn’t sexual. It was raw, guttural, primal, many things that you might link to sex… but it was more of a determination than anything else. An honest to god promise that the future would hold good things for him. That he would know happiness, by Richard’s designs.</p><p>It put a warmth in his chest, which spread to his throat and made his eyes burn. Above him, Richard watched the myriad of expressions shift across his face.</p><p>“Y’know what’s funny?” Thomas croaked.</p><p>“Mm.”</p><p>“I usually hate the world,” it wasn’t something he liked to admit, “But when I’m with you like this… it ain’t half so bad, is it.”</p><p>“Told you before,” Richard agreed, “We do what we’ve got to t’get by. But this is just the beginning for us.”</p><p>“Even with Coyle?”</p><p>“I’m not scared of Coyle.”</p><p>“Are you?” And now that Thomas thought about, honestly and truly, he wasn’t afraid either. In a way he found Coyle quite annoying, which was a funny thing to find a murderer to be. “I’m not afraid either. Funny… I ought to be terrified of him. Man’s got a murderous streak the size of Derbyshire an’ I told him to kiss my ass.”</p><p>They giggled, Richard rolling to the right so that they could lay side by side.</p><p>As the humor wore off, the pair of them staring up at a dirty cobwebbed ceiling. Slightly sobered, Richard said, “Only thing I’m scared of is losin’ you.”</p><p>Thomas rolled his head to the right, watching how Richard grew pensive and resolved. It was amazing, seeing his handsome face in the low lamplight. It was like he was painted in gold.</p><p>It was odd, to hear someone say that they were scared of losing him. He’d never been so dear to anyone before, not even his own parents.</p><p>“I wasn’t livin’ life till I met you,” Richard explained. He could tell that he was slightly embarrassed, as if someone by not living life he looked the worser for it. “I was just… floating,” He let his hand drift through the air in explanation. “I don’t want to do that again. I want to look at your eyes and see everything that matters.”</p><p>He rolled his head to the left, so that they were now gazing at one another. “I want to wake up and have a reason to get out of bed.”</p><p>He smiled, touched by Richard’s admission. It was a beautiful thing to say, and the words would stay with him forever.</p><p>“What do you want?” Richard whispered. Like a genie, he offered a chance for Thomas to have anything that he’d desired. But after a lifetime of misery and anger there was only one thing that truly mattered. Only one thing that he desired beyond all else.</p><p>“I want to be happy,” He said in a small voice. “And you make me happy.”</p><p>A smile creeped up on Richard’s face. He looked like a child, giddy at the idea that he made Thomas happy.</p><p>“I do?” He could hardly believe it.</p><p>“…Yeah.”</p><p>And there were tears in Richard’s eyes as he pulled Thomas close.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>In the gloom of an unlit servant’s hall, a lone shadow slinked down the spiral stairs.</p><p>It creeped along the concrete walls, ancient cracks thrown into deep shadow as it passed. Its destination was the butler’s office, which the shadow knew to locked.</p><p>Yes…. Little Tommy was getting quite smart.</p><p>Unfortunately for him, Sarah O’Brien was the teacher where he was the student; any lock could be opened if one had the right key. She didn’t have a key per say, but she did have a bobby pin that she’d bent into an angle to suit her methods. It gave her a dark amusement to know that the very same lock picking technique she’d showed him would now be used to upset his fragile little world.</p><p>She’d thought, initially, that the job would be easy. That perhaps she might be able to spend extra time on her own desires after she’d given Coyle what she wanted. But the more that Sarah had tried to create disturbances, the more she’d ended up creating barriers around her target. Barrow was paranoid, and wouldn’t let Baxter out of his sight. Moseley was besotted with her, and even when Barrow wasn’t around, he almost certainly was. In the rare moments where neither men could be found, Anna got in the way. Then Mrs. Hughes, then that ridiculous Daisy; frankly all of them were getting to be an exhausting game that she could not win.</p><p>Something had happened in lieu of her absence. When she’d vanished from the abbey five years ago, they’d all been at each other’s throats. Now, they were like a queer family formed from a common goal.</p><p>It made her want to be nauseas.</p><p>She slipped inside Barrow’s office, and carefully closed the door to lock it from the inside. Here, she could do untold amount of damage, but harnessed her malicious desires if only to keep to the plan. Baxter first, Barrow later… she told herself this nightly. She had to get rid of Baxter and quickly… but if she couldn’t be the one to finish the job, she’d have to try another source.</p><p> </p><p>Sarah picked up the telephone, and spoke softly to the operator.</p><p>“… Get me the Red Witch in Thirsk.”</p><p>O’Brien kept an eye firmly on the doorway, wary of anyone passing by. When the voice came on the phone that she was waiting for, she knew she had limited time to act. Everyone was upstairs asleep, but she’d seen the faintest vestiges of light underneath the cellar door sill. That meant someone was inside, probably drinking. If they caught her, she’d have to wager her own sins against theirs, but she didn’t want it to be Barrow.</p><p>In order for her newest plan to work, Barrow had to remain completely oblivious. Otherwise he’d botch it.</p><p>“I have a bet to place for the bookie,” It was their code word. The bookie being Peter, the bet being their plan.</p><p>For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then, a sharp jolt of static on the wire informed her their illegal patch in was complete.</p><p><em>“What?” </em>Coyle demanded.</p><p>“India, reporting,” O’Brien said. “I have news, and an idea.”</p><p><em>“Fine.” </em>Coyle could go through these bizarre periods where he spoke at length, only to then lapse into one word sentences that would last for days. It seemed tonight was a short night.</p><p> </p><p>“The little shits are crawling all over her like roaches,” She complained. “I can’t get her on her own, not without attracting attention, but today we received news that ought to make our goal easier.”</p><p>
  <em>“Huh.” </em>
</p><p>“Make her do it herself, and save us the trouble,” O’Brien whispered into the phone. “I’ve got the perfect ammo. She’s going to have a baby…”</p><p>The noise on the other end sounded like a dying animal. It soothed her, to know that someone else in this world could feel pain akin to hers. If the world was nothing but pain, let more pain come to it.</p><p>
  <em>“She WHAT?!” </em>
</p><p>“You heard me,” O’Brien said. “Why don’t you write to her, and let her know how you feel about that. Press home your point. I’ll do my own work up close, and we’ll see if we can’t get her to jump off the first balcony passes.”</p><p><em>“That fucking BITCH-!” </em>There was a sound of shattering glass from the other end, followed by garbled screaming and gunshots.</p><p>O’Brien let out a terse sigh; men could be exhausting with their emotions.</p><p>“I’ll be in touch.” She didn’t much care for the rest. “Tara.”</p><p>She hung up the phone and left, shutting the door to Barrow’s office and leaving it just like she found it. The light was still on in the cellar; she pressed her ear to the wood to listen, only to hear nothing. Whoever was down there, they were proficient at hiding. It seemed she wasn’t the only one in the house with secrets.</p><p>Whoever it was, they could wait. Her business now lay with Baxter solely, and with Barrow eventually. Then, and only then, would Sarah be able to focus on the things which truly mattered most. Her own secret burned bright and hot within her, the warmth of its affections licking at her chest and throat.  </p><p>The game was set, the match was ready. Soon, the fire would spread. She wanted to watch the whole goddamn house burn.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. A Midnight Swim</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Coyle's latest assault on Phyllis Baxter leaves even Thomas Barrow shaken up.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>trigger warnings for this chapter also contain spoilers. I highly recommend that you skip to the endnotes to see if the spoiler triggers you, as it most certainly triggered me while writing it. </p><p>I wanted to thank everyone who has been so kind to me in the comments. Leaving my fiancé has devastated me. He was the love of my life, and it has resulted in me losing my way. I truly do feel like I've lost everything at times, but I'm trying to continue on day by day. Writing helps. This chapter was exceedingly difficult for me to write because it touched on themes that I've been struggling with. I hope that all of you have a happy Halloween, if you celebrate it. </p><p>To all my American readers, I beg of you, please for the love of god VOTE. I've already cast my ballot. This election is for the very soul of our country. Every vote counts.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Baxter’s pregnancy was both a shadow and a light in Thomas’ world. Somehow the dangers of Coyle and O’Brien were now more real, more dangerous than before. It was one thing to protect Baxter, it was another to protect her baby. This tiny, nameless life form that was surely no bigger than a pea seemed so fragile that one heavy breath of wind might blow it away into nothingness. Haunted by this concept, Thomas found himself at the dark end of many sleepless nights, wondering at Baxter only a few doors down sleeping with Anna.</p><p>He found himself captivated by the idea of the baby being born. What would it look it? What sex would it be? He imagined a little girl with beautiful dark hair and keen eyes, how she’d made sweet crooning noises with a pink mouth shaped like a cupid’s bow. How beautiful she’d be, like a lily of the valley; she’d dance and sing, spinning about on hills of fresh grass…. She’d be a beauty. The only woman he’d ever loved.</p><p>But then, what if it was a boy? Tall and handsome (nothing like his father), eager to play cricket and listen to Thomas’ stories. They’d be such pests to the other adults, playing tricks on all the others to sneak off and eat sweets in the cupboard. Best friends, that’s what they’d be. And as the boy would grow stronger, so too would Thomas; There’d be something wonderful in seeing the world again through the eyes of a child. They’d make music all their own, remembering what it felt like again to be happy. To be hopeful.</p><p>The days grew colder still, as if winter was punishing them for thinking of things like grassy hills or sunshine. A bitter sleet swept the countryside, making it almost impossible to travel. As a result, a sort of claustrophobia overtook the house. It would be one thing if everyone was chummy, but now adays the tension was rife and arguments weren’t too far behind. The only time the edge relaxed was late in the evening when work was done and Thomas could let the wireless play. They’d listen to scary stories being recited over the air, or enjoy a waltz better suited to Mr. Carson’s time. But even this was punctuated by the fact that Downton now hosted yet another irritating guest… and this time Thomas couldn’t get him to go away.</p><p>Charles Carson seemed to have decided that if Baxter could not be thrown out, then neither could he. Furious to find that his wife and his master had abandoned him, Carson made himself a nuisance downstairs simply by sitting and existing. Somehow that sort of mindless living infuriated Thomas worse than he could say. Technically the man was doing nothing wrong. It wasn’t a crime to take tea or read a book, particularly when he was the elder statesman. By all rights, Carson ought to be able to oversee the house in this manner. Thomas was in charge, but Carson was watching.</p><p>Always watching… always.</p><p> </p><p>It began with what ought to have been for all intents and purposes a normal teatime. Carson sat reading a book, Thomas and Richard played a game of cards, Anna continued to work on a blanket for her unborn baby and Rose sat at the piano playing another mindless tune. At the far end of the table, O’Brien pretended to read a book, but she hadn’t flipped a page in thirty minutes. Instead, she was watching Baxter, who sat with her back to her facing the fire. Moseley was offering her tea and biscuits, trying to get her to eat.</p><p>She was doing so, but it was a shaky thing… every so often it was like she’d forget she was eating and simply put her biscuit down to stare into the fire again.</p><p>This lull of normality was brought to a pause by the approach of Andy Parker, who instead of taking his tea and biscuits with the others and ignoring Thomas like he’d done for the past weeks, seemed to have had a moment of contrition. Maybe it was because they were now stuck in the house and unable to get out.</p><p>“…Yes Andrew?” He asked.</p><p>He expected another favor; perhaps Daisy was ill and needed to lay down for the rest of the afternoon. But instead of speaking about his wife, Andy slowly took a seat next to Thomas on his other side. Richard bristled, not meeting the man’s eyes as he began to shuffle cards again. The methodical flip of old paper and wax was slightly soothing, but it did nothing to hide the embarrassment that burned on Andy’s face or in Thomas’ chest.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Andy said. It was quiet, an honest and bashful thing which immediately caught his attention and held it. Even Richard, who still refused to look at Andy, paused mid-shuffle of cards. He didn’t look up, but he was listening; it was obvious to the passerby.</p><p>“I’m sorry Thomas, Richard,” First name terms were hardly something he enjoyed from Andy at the moment, but something in his expression urged Thomas to allow it.</p><p>Andy took a little breath, warming himself up, then spoke plainly to them like an adult instead of the randy little teenager he actually was.</p><p>“I was scared,” Andy admitted, hands twisting a bit in his lap. “I’d nearly lost Daisy the night we were attacked on the road. I realized, as we were trying to escape, that I didn’t know how to shoot. An’ I thought we were going to die because of it. Because of my inadequacies.”</p><p>Though Richard did not know it, Thomas was well aware of how Andy’s humiliations played upon his mind.</p><p>“They’re always chasing me it seems,” Thomas carefully closed his book, a silent signal for Andy to continue and a show of respect. A tit for tat if you will. “When you spoke to Christopher, I guess it just threw me. I never stopped to consider how it must have thrown you too. To see the man you thought was your friend, in league with a murderer and a criminal.” Andy shrugged, bitterly. “Anyway, it doesn’t excuse what I said the other night, and I’m sorry. I know you’d never do anything to put us in danger, and you were brave the night we were attacked. You saved us all.”</p><p>Well… he didn’t know about that.</p><p>A little chuffed, Thomas looked to Richard who was now staring at the wall instead of Andy’s face. His eyes flickered to Thomas, a silent conversation playing out between them.</p><p>
  <em>You believe him? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yes. </em>
</p><p>Richard finally looked at Andy, fingers drumming irritably on the work top.</p><p>“Can we be friends again?” Andy pleaded. “Please?”</p><p>How funny. To have someone beg him to be friends, it was rather amusing. But there was nothing funny about the way that Andy stared at him, with such clear self-disappointment and an eagerness to let bygones be bygones. That awful night had shaken everyone, and he supposed it was a little crass to blame Andy for being brash when his father in law had been dying and his wife had nearly been shot in front of him.</p><p>“Yes,” Thomas said. Andy beamed, misty eyed at the prospect of all being well. “We can be friends again.”</p><p>But Andy’s penance was not fully realized. There was still Richard, who was less easy to sway than Thomas.</p><p>“Mr. Ellis?” Andy asked.</p><p>He glanced at Thomas, who gave him a knowing look. Richard would win no points in his favor by being hard on a boy who was half his age and a third as experienced with life.</p><p>“…Alright,” Richard finally agreed. “But no more getting hot under the collar with Thomas.”</p><p>“You’re his champion. I understand,” And it was good to know that they could make jokes about it now.</p><p>“Yes, I am,” Richard agreed. Thomas gave a tiny laugh, amazed at their ability to be so open and yet so hidden. The real weight of his words was right there under Andy’s nose, but the lad couldn’t sniff it out. People were blind to that which went against their own understanding.</p><p>“I’m glad you’ve made a friend, Thomas,” Andy said. “Truly I am. You deserve a bosom mate more than anyone else.”</p><p>Yet before Thomas could thank Andy for this kindness, they were interrupted by the looming shadow of Charles Carson. His ability to sniff out impropriety was unchallenged in the house, and even the tiniest insurrection such as Andy being familiar was cause enough for him to come snapping.</p><p>“Andrew,” Carson reprimanded, “You do not call your butler by his Christian name, nor do you speak to him of such personal matters. Or have we lost all our standards?”</p><p>Andy flushed, the tips of his ears growing bright pink in embarrassment. Eager to rectify the situation and to diffuse the tension, Thomas cut across him before he could apologize to Mr. Carson. “It’s fine, Andy,” Thomas assured him. “Sit down, have a cuppa. Richard, pour him one.”</p><p>Richard did as he was bade and poured Andy a cup of tea. Andy sat on Richards’ other side, and meekly took the cup to give a tiny sip. Carson observed all of this but said nothing. Perhaps this was some queer test for Thomas, not Andy. Thomas glared, unamused.</p><p>“In future, Mr. Carson, please refrain from dictating how my staff speak to me. We have our own methods in this house, and we work well together.”</p><p>Carson rolled his eyes, unimpressed.</p><p>“You have a funny idea of methods,” Carson said. If this was supposed to be an insult, it missed its mark.</p><p>“Yes, well my methods are the ones we use now,” Thomas said.</p><p>This difficult conversation was broken by the heralding of Albert who had a stack of mail in his hands. This was right on time, for the afternoon post went hand in hand with the servant’s tea. Heads turned all up and down the table, as those who were expecting post looked on with hope that they’d get their mail today.</p><p>“Post!” Albert’s voice squeaked a bit, a sign of puberty as he handed Thomas the post. He took it with a silent nod of thanks.</p><p>But instead of simply letting Thomas sort the mail and hand it out, Carson held out his hand and seemed to expect Thomas to hand the mail over.</p><p>On the opposite side of the room, Mrs. Hughes paused in her conversation with the day maid Rose and watched this display with confusion.</p><p>“Please give me the mail,” Carson said when Thomas did not immediately hand it over. Thomas blinked.</p><p>“…. Mr. Carson… Please do not embarrass yourself,” Thomas warned. “I am the butler, I distribute the mail.”</p><p>Down at the opposite end of the room, Mrs. Hughes glared at her husband. “Charles,” Her voice was a warning that he was being a fool. This was, by far, the most ridiculous stunt that Carson had pulled; to insist that Thomas was too inexperienced to pass out mail (a task often bequeathed to the hall boy). Seeming to realize he was outgunned and outnumbered, Carson turned bright pink and stormed away. It made for a bizarre picture, with the rest of the staff wondering at the aged butler’s retreating back like he’d grown a second head. Thomas noted that Anna and Bates in particular were swapping looks like they couldn’t figure out what reality they were in.</p><p>Thomas began to pass out mail, noting that Baxter had received yet another letter from her mother; Richard had purchased a rag for men’s fashion which made him wonder if he might be able to sneak it for himself when he got the chance. The sounds of the servant’s hall were muted as people began to open their letters. One of the housemaids let out a gasp of delight, turning to the others to proclaim: “My sister’s pregnant!”</p><p>“Blimey it’s like a disease at this point,” Richard muttered to himself. Thomas snorted, hiding his laughter.</p><p>But the infectious delight of the housemaid was overshadowed by a sharp cracking sound of porcelain on stone. Thomas looked up to see Baxter as white as chalk, the letter from her mother in hand. She looked like she was going faint and had dropped her teacup to the floor so that it now lay soaking brew into the stone.</p><p>“…Ms. Baxter?” Thomas said. The sound of her name seemed to terrify her. Without offering an explanation, she fled the hall, running up the stairs to the attics. Thomas watched her go, agog at the display. What on earth had been in that letter?</p><p>But Mr. Moseley was less than convinced it had anything to do with the letter. It did not help when O’Brien smirked from the far end of the table.</p><p>Moseley stood up, “Mr. Barrow-“their eyes met; Moseley’s face was blazing with intent. “Ms. Baxter said she felt poorly when she ran up. I think something was in her food.”</p><p>O’Brien scoffed, rolling her eyes.</p><p>Like a shot, Thomas jerked out of his chair, storming around the table to grab Baxter’s fallen teacup from the floor. There was still trace amounts left in the bottom; he held it to the firelight to see if any residue could be found in the bottom.</p><p>He took a sip, swishing it around in his mouth to find that the taste was quite normal. Nothing bitter or acidic to it… He narrowed his eyes, shaking his head.</p><p>“Nothing in the tea,” he said.</p><p>“Do you feel strange?” Moseley asked.</p><p>They waited for a solid second, everyone’s eyes upon Thomas. At the far end of the table, Richard had gotten out of his seat.</p><p>“Christ, you numpty why did you swallow it?” Richard begged. “What if it’s poisoned?”</p><p>“He’s got a point, Thomas, that wasn’t wise,” Moseley said.</p><p>O’Brien looked close to laughing. Unfortunately for her, her snickering and sneering only resulted in all eyes being drawn to her.</p><p>“I should think that none of this is funny, Ms. O’Brien,” Mrs. Hughes warned.</p><p>But if there had been something in Baxter’s tea, Thomas had now swallowed it to. It was vital that they know what, if anything, had been mixed with the brew lest both Thomas and Baxter become poisoned and die.</p><p>“Turn out your pockets,” Thomas demanded. O’Brien was taken aback.</p><p>“What?” She seemed genuinely confused to the order.</p><p>“Turn out your pockets!” He shouted it, the volume of his voice making her twitch a bit in her seat. “Now!”</p><p>But instead of doing as he bade, O’Brien merely sat in her seat glaring sullenly up at him. This gave Mrs. Hughes offense.</p><p>“Ms. O’Brien, your butler gave an order,” She warned. “Do as your told.”</p><p>“And why should I?” She sneered, arms crossed over her chest. “I’ve done nothing wrong. I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to-“</p><p>Now he was entirely convinced that something had been slipped into Baxter’s tea. Determined to find out what before he was too incapacitated to act, Thomas called out for aid.</p><p>Moseley reached out and put a hand on Thomas’ arm. He looked to find the man practically had fire in his eyes.</p><p>“Hold her,” Moseley said. It was not a request; it was a demand. The pair of them stared at one another for a moment, sizing each other up. Could they go forward with what they had to do? But above their heads, Baxter was still hiding in the attics, it seemed they had no choice. It was do or die, and frankly Thomas’ life was on the line too.</p><p>Thinking of Baxter and her unborn baby, Thomas stormed forward and grabbed O’Brien hard by the armpit. He jerked her up out of her chair before she could put up a fight, resulting in the other women at the table gasping. O’Brien struggled, trying to break free, but Thomas had her by the arms now, locking them behind her back so that she could not squirm away.</p><p>“Let go of me!” She cried out, furious to be manhandled in such a way. Moseley surged forward, reaching into the pockets of her dress at once. “Get off of me you bastards! I’ll have your heads for this! You absolute vermin-!”</p><p>Moseley finished his search and nodded to Thomas. He let her go, all but shoving her off to put as much distance between the pair of them as he dared.</p><p>It was clear O’Brien had never been manhandled in such a way in all her life. She was scandalized, cheeks flushed with blood and eyes blazing with fury as she observed them all for fiends.</p><p>“Anything?” Thomas huffed.</p><p>“Just this!” Moseley declared, revealing a lock pick in his hand. Thomas took it, holding it up to the light; so, it seemed that locked doors would not keep O’Brien out. He’d been a fool to imagine otherwise.</p><p>“Did anyone else just see that?!” O’Brien squawked. Unfortunately, her bullish behavior over the past month had resulted in no one wanting to come to her defense. Anna looked mildly disgusted at her. “Is someone going to do something or is there no justice in this house?!”</p><p>“And what is this?!” Thomas demanded, waving the lockpick in her face. O’Brien was ready to spit on him.</p><p>“It’s a bobby pin, you raving lunatic!” She shouted.</p><p>“Oh, don’t bullshit me, woman!” He cut across before she could finish her sentence. All of it was lies. “It’s a lock pick! I know what it is because I used to have one. You taught me how to make it!”</p><p>“You can’t prove that” And indeed he couldn’t, but Thomas didn’t care.</p><p>“I don’t need to,” Thomas declared, gesturing to the rest of the room. “Everyone believes me.”</p><p>O’Brien and Thomas both looked to the table. They found a sea of distrusting faces, with everyone from Albert to Mrs. Hughes wary of O’Brien.</p><p>She slowly slipped from fury to icy indifference, no doubt gathering that her allies in the house were slim to none.</p><p>“What door do you think she unlocked?” Mrs. Hughes asked.</p><p>“I think it was Mr. Barrow’s office,” Moseley said. “Think about how many important files are in there, and the money.”</p><p>“And the silver,” Bates spoke up. Anna tutted under her breath, shaking her head.</p><p>“I won’t stand here and listen to this-“ O’Brien tried to pass, heading for the stairs, but Mrs. Hughes cut her off.</p><p>“You shall!” She warned. “Until I’ve searched your rooms, you will not move from that very spot. Don’t push your luck with me, Sarah O’Brien!”</p><p>O’Brien scoffed, furious, but even as she made to leave Thomas shouted out after her retreating back.</p><p>“Her ladyship’s soaps!”</p><p>O’Brien stopped walking so fast that the leather on the bottom of her shoes actually squeaked against the ancient tile floor. With a menacing glare, she looked over her shoulder at him; it was clear she would have flung him off the first cliff she came to.</p><p>But he didn’t care.</p><p>“… Oh those slippery soaps,” He declared, as angry as she. “Another step, and everything you fear will come to light.”</p><p>She shuddered, skin turning gray as she looked from Thomas to Mrs. Hughes. Bitter, she resigned herself to the injustice of having her room searched. Mrs. Hughes looked with a face like thunder and marched up the stairs so that all the others were clustered around the table.</p><p>Unable to resist from getting a bit of her own back, O’Brien said, “Scrub your fingernails lately?”</p><p>Richard stiffened, embarrassed at the insult. Mercifully, the others didn’t seem to recognize the comment for what it was. Thomas noted that Moseley did a double take, his eyes narrowing as they landed on Thomas. Perhaps he knew something was off.</p><p>“Only to get your blood off them,” Thomas sneered.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It was terrible, to sit and wait with no one daring to move. O’Brien did not make to sit, did not make to turn, on tenterhooks as Mrs. Hughes remained missing. Thomas was hyper focused on his body, waiting for what should be his inevitable demise. Every twinge in his muscles was the onset of death, he was certain. Every odd taste in the back of his mouth must surely be poison. But ten minutes turned into twenty, and still he did not die. Ages ago, he’d been a medic, and in that time he’d known what it was to die from poison. He knew that had he ingested anything truly wretched, twenty minutes would have him dead or dying.</p><p>And so, when he heard the gentle steps of Mrs. Hughes coming back down the servant’s stairwell, Thomas knew implicitly that she’d found nothing. That, for all their panic and fright, O’Brien was innocent of this one particular crime.</p><p>Mrs. Hughes stepped back into the hall, and though everyone stared at her she addressed only Thomas.</p><p>“Well, I found nothing out of the ordinary,” Mrs. Hughes declared, “So that’s that. And what is more, I checked on Ms. Baxter. She’s trying to sleep, she said that received some rather poor news, that’s all.”</p><p>O’Brien let out a string of expletives under her breath. Yet even with clear evidence that she did not commit an offense, her supporters were few and far between.</p><p>“She could have hidden whatever she took somewhere else,” Bates spoke up.</p><p>“Thank you, Mr. Bates,” Mrs. Hughes was growing just a tad bit annoyed. “But for now, I think we shall assume innocence.”</p><p>“Am I free to go?” O’Brien demanded, “Or shall you call the police still on a bobby pin?”</p><p>“…For now,” He declared. “But take care not to test the subject of my patience.”</p><p>She left without another word, but as she passed Thomas noted that there was a distinct edge to her walk. A sharpness to her gaze that had not been there in many years. A line had been crossed today. He’d made O’Brien feel small and powerless, that was not something she’d be forgiving him for. He’d made himself a target, and would no doubt suffer for his actions, but he could not bring himself to regret it. Not when Baxter was the cause.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It was very ugly, to serve the family dinner after that. Thomas gave the excuse of feeling poorly, so that Mr. Carson took up the reigns and served while he sat outside and smoked. It hadn’t been a lie, not fully. There was something awful gnawing away at him in the pit of his stomach. He supposed what it really was was guilt. He’d assumed O’Brien had done something vile, but he’d been the one to act vile today. To grab her like that out of her chair… it hadn’t been right.</p><p>He shouldn’t have done it. He knew that now.</p><p>A gentle groan of oak caught Thomas’ attention. He looked over his shoulder at the door to the hall and found it ajar with Moseley perched just on the threshold. Normally he helped Andy serve dinner, but it seemed that tonight he’d not wanted to. There was something odd in the air, like they were on the verge of an apocalypse. Like something huge was hanging over them and threatening to fall.</p><p>Maybe Moseley felt a tiny bit guilty too.</p><p>Moseley perched himself next to Thomas’ seat, the pair of them staring out onto the snowy fields of the area yard. “She still hasn’t come down. I asked Mrs. Hughes to check on her, and she said she was sleeping.”</p><p>“…Good,” Thomas flicked his cigarette, so that the cherry glowed with renewed light.</p><p>The pair of them were slightly ashamed for their earlier antics; with O’Brien’s quarters coming up bare and Thomas decidedly not poisoned from sipping Baxter’s tea, it was clear they’d missed the mark.</p><p>They’d be in for hell now. O’Brien would have her revenge one way or the other.</p><p>“You did the right thing, Mr. Barrow… an’ I’m grateful for your help,” he said. “I couldn’t have searched her on my own.”</p><p>Thomas made an ugly noise under his breath. Moseley was wrong, in more ways than one. Maybe he didn’t know what it was to be guilty…. But Thomas did. He knew when he’d committed an offense.</p><p>“I’m used to being in the wrong, so it doesn’t bother me either way,” He blew out a long column of smoke. Moseley watched him for a moment, slightly nervous. It was as close as he could come to saying the truth.</p><p>“That comment she made… about scrubbing her fingernails….” Moseley coughed a bit, his voice tightening. “Was that in reference to something… vulgar?”</p><p>There was no point in trying to hide from it. “Yes.”</p><p>He shuddered, disgusted, “That’s vile.”</p><p>“Well, people tend to make those sorts of ugly jokes about men like me,” after a lifetime of ugliness, he was too jaded to pretend to care anymore. “I’m an easy target. Low digs… you get used to it.”</p><p>“You shouldn’t have to,” But Moseley’s moral piety would do him no favors in Thomas’ world.</p><p>“That’s how life is for men like me.”</p><p>For a moment, the pair of them were silent. Moseley was itching to say something, Thomas could simply tell. After years of living with the man, he knew that his poker face was made of cellophane.</p><p>“I shouldn’t ask this,” Moseley said.</p><p>“Then why are you?”</p><p>“Curiosity I suppose….” And he supposed there wasn’t much that he could do to curb the man’s desire to learn. “I’ve been reading things because I wanted to learn more after you told me the truth. I guess I wondered if it’s actually like they say in the books.”</p><p>“Well, that depends on what they say in the books,” And he had a feeling it wouldn’t be generous. Moseley wasn’t shirking back from the challenge; however, it seemed that his desire to teach could sprout out of him at any given moment like a potato put in sunlight.</p><p>Moseley began to gesture with his hands, pointing at the ground. Thomas blinked, unsure what that was supposed to mean.</p><p>“You know… the thing you could… technically do with a woman but wouldn’t do because you do the other.”</p><p>Now Thomas was completely lost. “What?” He demanded, agog.</p><p>Moseley jerked a thumb over his shoulder, now pointing back towards the house. Thomas looked over his own shoulder, only to see nothing that gave the topic away.</p><p>Thomas sighed, exhausted by the display. “Mr. Moseley I am not an archeologist, so if you’re hoping I can make a sentence out of hieroglyphs-“</p><p>“Do you do…. Things with…” Moseley paused, pointing very slowly to his thigh where it met the bench. Thomas looked where Moseley pointed, confused. Then, Moseley twitched his finger towards the-</p><p>Ah.</p><p>He was referring to someone’s arse, by pointing in every direction <em>but </em>the arse.</p><p>Finally, able to understand what Moseley was saying, Thomas felt the need to lay the law down lest their relationship turn into something peculiar. It was one thing for them to be in cahoots, but they weren’t nearly close enough to start talking about sexual conduct between men.</p><p>Thomas carefully stubbed out his cigarette, so that it hissed in the snow. “I heard that you spoke out in front of her Majesty the Queen,” Thomas said.</p><p>“I did,” Moseley shuddered at the memory, “I thought I was headed for the chop.”</p><p>Inspired by this phrase, Thomas turned to look at Moseley dead in the face. The man was beginning to sweat, perhaps sensing the irritation in Thomas’ gaze.</p><p>“Look deeply into my eyes, Mr. Moseley,” Thomas warned. When he felt certain that he’d gathered the man’s full and undivided attention, he said, “You’re headed for the chop again. And I’m not nearly as gracious as the Queen of England.”</p><p>“Understood,” Moseley licked his lips and looked back out to the area yard, desperate to get as far away from danger as possible, “Let’s change the subject.”</p><p>“Let’s.”</p><p>Yet despite their agreement, it was difficult to make conversation after such a peculiar question. Sensing that Moseley was cowed by Thomas’ irritation, he decided a tiny bit of mercy was in order.</p><p>“…Yes,” He finally growled. “And we’ll say no more on that.”</p><p>Moseley’s eyebrows were in danger of receding into his hairline.</p><p>“Wow, that’s… compelling,” Which was the most bizarre word that Thomas had ever heard in reference to sodomy.</p><p>They sat together, like a pair of fools. For a moment, it was nothing but the wind and the snow, which swirled around and left bizarre patterns on the ground.</p><p>“…Do you think she’ll want retribution, after today?” Moseley asked.</p><p>“Without a doubt,” He pulled out another cigarette, but did not make to strike it up. Instead, he simply stared at it, wondering at how slim and neat it was, unburnt. “Watch your back.”</p><p>And then, Moseley said something rather remarkable. He turned, and said, “I’ll watch yours if you watch mine.”</p><p>It was a reinforcement of their bond. A reminder that one and one were now two, protecting a third (and even a tiny fourth). It made him feel stronger, and oddly happy despite the turbulence they were facing.</p><p>Moseley was closing to laughing, “Do you really put things up your-“</p><p>Thomas raised a finger in warning. It was enough to silence the man permanently on the subject.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>After their peculiar conversation, Thomas and Moseley were called in for dinner by Daisy. It was certainly not the most hospital table that Thomas had ever sat at. Despite the fact that Carson had gone home after serving the family, there was an obvious tension still in the air. Baxter was summoned from her bed by Mrs. Hughes, who was determined to get her to eat before the night was through. But despite the fact that she ought to have slept, Baxter looked even worse than before.</p><p>When Daisy offered her a plate of chicken and peas, Baxter did not touch it. The others tucked in, even O’Brien who was still furious at the end of the table.</p><p>“You need to eat, Ms. Baxter,” Daisy ladled more gravy onto her plate, “You’re eating for two now.”</p><p>When Baxter did not respond, Thomas added, “Are you feeling poorly?”</p><p>Slowly, Baxter’s eyes flickered to his face and lingered there.</p><p>He paused, his breath catching a tiny bit in his chest. There was something in her eyes, an emotion he could not entirely name. It was like seeing a ghost during the daylight, a memory of something he’d forcibly forgotten. What was he seeing in her eyes? What was he trying not to remember?</p><p>“You’re so brave…” She whispered. But he knew implicitly that the word ‘brave’ wasn’t the word that she’d actually meant to say. What was she hiding in her voice?</p><p>“If you say so,” She was starting to make him nervous, “But please eat.”</p><p>She looked down at her plate, ashen, “I’m not hungry Thomas.”</p><p>There was such terrible defeat in her voice, and it disturbed him to know that she was in such dire straights. Maybe O’Brien hadn’t put poison in her tea, but she’d certainly done something to rattle her. What?</p><p>Had it been the letter?</p><p>“Eat for the baby, please?” Thomas asked.</p><p>With shaky hands, Baxter reached out and took up her cup of water to sip from it. It was, at best, a poor man’s dinner. It made Thomas incredibly nervous to see her so badly thrown all for the sake of a letter. What in the hell had her mother written in it? He had half a mind to find the woman and strangle her.</p><p>“What a sign of the times,” O’Brien spoke up from her end of the table, still brooding over the day’s injustices. “Three servants, pregnant. When I was a young woman, it would have been a sacking offense, now it seems to be a badge of honor.”</p><p>“When you were a young woman, the pyramids were being built,” Thomas shot back. Andy choked on his hash, eyes bugging out of his head as he desperately tried to keep from laughing. Across the table, Bates made a tight noise in his throat, barely concealing his humor.</p><p>O’Brien glared at Thomas, a deep loathing in her brown eyes. “I suppose you must feel terribly jealous. You’re practically a woman yourself.”</p><p>“Yes, I don’t know which part I envy more,” he sneered, “The parasite growing inside of me, or having to push it out of a body cavity. Or maybe the vomiting and the swelling. Oh, I just can’t choose.” It felt good to take a simpering tone. To really knock O’Brien down a peg and keep her there while he was at it.</p><p>“Or people trying to touch you constantly,” Richard added.</p><p>“Oh, you’re glowing, let me invade your personal space!” Thomas put on a falsetto voice. Richard joined him, and now the pair of them were mocking O’Brien with such pace that she could not keep up.</p><p>“Oh, let me put my hands on your stomach without asking you,” Richard agreed.</p><p>“Let me ask you all sorts of creepy questions.”</p><p>“Has your hair gotten oilier?” Richard tilted his head, “You look flushed, are you breaking out?”</p><p>“That means it’s a boy,” for wasn’t there always some peculiar midwife rumor regarding a pregnant woman and the signs for telling the sex.</p><p>“Or is your skin all dry and flaky like a snake?” Richard offered.</p><p>“That’s a girl,” Thomas chimed in.</p><p>“Or does your wee smell?”</p><p>“That’s an infection,” This time, Andy wasn’t able to keep it down. He choked on his food, nearly spitting it out onto his plate as he clapped his hands over his mouth. Richard was sniggering, the apples of his cheeks flushed with amusement. Everyone around the table was trying their hardest not to laugh lest they invoke O’Brien’s wrath, save for Baxter who was still unnervingly quiet.</p><p>“Typical of your lot not to understand the worth of a woman,” O’Brien said.</p><p>“If I wanted to find the worth of a woman, I wouldn’t start looking with you,” He warned.</p><p>“Can we not eat in peace?” Anna protested, “Please? I know we’re all at ends but… it just gets so exhausting after a while.”</p><p>What a weak little chicken, backing down from a fight. Where was the spunky Anna that had taken on the royal staff so many months ago? It seemed she could handle the King’s butler but she couldn’t take on O’Brien for more than ten minutes without feeling tired. Thomas rolled his eyes, returning his attention to his plate.</p><p>In an attempt to bridge the gap and start a new conversation, Anna took it upon herself to try for hospitality. “I’m thinking about making a list of girl names,” Anna said, addressing Baxter who was taken aback. “I want it to be a girl so badly. So, I can brush her hair and tell her stories. What about you, Ms. Baxter? What are you hoping for? Would you rather have a boy or a girl?”</p><p>“I don’t care what it is, so long as it’s healthy,” Daisy said as she walked around the table re-filling water cups. “My mum always told me I was a wee bit small for a baby, I’m worried mine will be too.”</p><p>“Don’t fret, the small ones are usually the fighters,” Richard assure her. “They say if a baby is tiny but it lives through its first winter, it can take on anything.”</p><p>“Do you think your baby will be small?” Anna asked Ms. Baxter. “I think mine will be normal, Johnny was perfectly average.”</p><p>“Goodness me, a bit early to jump into those sorts of details don’t you think?” O’Brien paused, her simpering tone turning acidic as her eyes fell on Baxter. “It’s quite early still. Anything could happen… you could lose it. Woman of your age-“</p><p>A nerve popped in Thomas’ brain. Furious at O’Brien’s insinuation, he spoke out loudly so that he overrode Anna’s complaint: “Her ladyship’s soaps arrived this afternoon.”</p><p>O’Brien bristled, her fingers clenching instinctively around the rim of her teacup. “Make sure you unpack them for tomorrow before you trot off to bed. I know it’s heavy on your mind.”</p><p>For a moment, the table was absolutely silent, all eyes turning to O’Brien. The fact of the matter was, the rest of the staff were perfectly aware that no soaps had arrived. As a result, the insinuation was starting to eat at everyone, making them wonder just what the meaning behind Thomas’ words were. O’Brien offered no explanations either way, and in lieu of the declining conversation she rose from her chair and left the servant’s hall. It felt good to watch her go, to know that peace could be restored once again.</p><p>His feelings were shared by the other members of staff. In particular, Anna and Bates who unclenched like coils that had been under intense pressure.</p><p>“And I hope that’s put you in your place,” Anna muttered under her breath, moodily stabbing at her peas.</p><p>“It hasn’t,” Bates grumbled. Unfortunately, Thomas knew the man was right.</p><p>But even if O’Brien had been banished from the table like a foul smell to the dustbin, Baxter was still rattled. Something had shifted within her; the gray malaise which had hung over here was now sucked inside her body so that though she did not look different she radiated a completely new energy. It was almost as if she’d given up, and that frightened Thomas more than her terror.</p><p>She never ended up eating her dinner.  </p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>After dinner, the servants dispersed to their own corners for some well needed relaxation. Mrs. Patmore and Daisy worked on a new recipe in the kitchen with Gertie helping them out till all three decided to call it a night and go to bed. Andy sat at the table for an hour or so, working on his cursive in a book that he’d bought through a mail order magazine. Moseley read a chapter in his book on English history, then went to bed (Andy went up with him). The maids went home, carted off by a policemen as Thomas had arranged. Albert was feeling poorly, and so he took an early night. Soon enough, very few were left downstairs.</p><p>Thomas returned to his office to do paperwork, and no one made to bother him. Richard and Bates worked in the boot room on a coat for Lord Grantham that needed mending. Anna sat by the fire and worked on her blanket, knitting methodically until everyone had gone upstairs to bed save for her husband. When he finally did appear, it was nearly midnight and he looked bone tired.</p><p>She rose from her chair, folding her knitted blanket over her arm; it was getting long enough to drape on the ground now.</p><p>“Finished for the night?” Anna asked.</p><p>“Just about,” John rubbed at a knot in his neck, tired after a day of heavy work. “I wish we could go back to our home… I suppose that’s a pipe dream until Coyle is done and dusted.”</p><p>“Don’t fret,” Anna petted her husband gently upon his upper arm, squeezing at the tense muscle she found there. “All will be well in the end.”</p><p>“So long as O’Brien eventually goes away, I agree…. I’ll say goodnight,” John looked left and right, checked the coast was clear, and pressed a chaste kiss to Anna’s pert mouth. It had to be quick lest they be caught out by Thomas or (god forbid) Mrs. Patmore. But neither appeared, and John was able to slip away without issue.</p><p>Now, Anna was alone in the darkened servant’s hall. She wondered idly if Richard was still in the boot room but reasoned that was his own business and she could let him be. He ought to go to bed (after all, they needed all the sleep they could get) but he was a grown man and most certainly not her husband. Anna did her rounds, checking the rooms for anything that needed to be put to rights. The kitchen was clean and the servant’s table was wiped down…. The only company came from a light beneath Thomas’ door, where he no doubt was elbow deep in paperwork. She wondered if now that they were alone in the dead of night, she might ask him more about O’Brien’s fatal secret. John had sworn up and down that Thomas would not be budged on the subject, but maybe with a bit more pushing he’d tell her what blackmail he had.  </p><p>Collecting her button box from the linen cupboard, Anna stuffed it full of half-finished blanket before returning to the servant’s hall.</p><p>She stopped, a jolt of panic fluttering through her heart at the sight of a white figure standing in the hall. For a spilt second, she thought it might be a ghost, until she remembered her senses and saw that it was only Ms. Baxter.</p><p>But then, Anna realized Ms. Baxter was wearing her night shift and nothing but. It was scandalous, even in modern times, and it made her wonder if the woman had gone mad. There was a strange, deadened look in her eyes… like she wasn’t really seeing Anna at all.</p><p>Like she wasn’t seeing anything.</p><p>“…I always envied you,” She whispered. Her voice was barely a breath upon the wind, as wispy as her loosened dark hair which hung in a wave over her shoulder.</p><p>It unnerved her, deeply, “Ms. Baxter, are you alright?” Anna asked.</p><p>A tiny creepy smile spread across Ms. Baxter’s pained face.</p><p>She turned and left, drifting down the hallway only to pause at the corner. There, she turned again, and though she did not meet Anna’s eyes nor even look at her directly, she addressed her: “Be good to him. Be good to them both. They have it worse than you know.”</p><p>And with that, she vanished.</p><p>For a moment, Anna did not know what to do. She stood in the silence of a darkened servant’s hall wondering what on earth Ms. Baxter was playing at to be walking around in her night things. And where had she gone?</p><p>Anna walked down the hall, following Baxter’s footsteps; when she reached the corner, she turned to find the hallway to the area yard clear of all life. But surely, she hadn’t gone outside? Not when it was snowing…</p><p>A terrible pit of dread was growing in her stomach, making her heart flutter with an abnormal rhythm. If she were honest with herself, Baxter had been acting strangely all day long. Maybe it had been easy to ignore in the day but now that it was nighttime and Baxter had vanished in her underclothes, Anna was beginning to panic. Upstairs, Mr. Moseley was already asleep in his room.</p><p>She looked over her shoulder at the golden light glowing under Thomas’ door.</p><p>It would have to do.</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Inside his office, Thomas sat working none the wiser to how terrible his night was about to go. He could not get his mind off of the way that O’Brien had looked at him when he’d held her down while Moseley had gone through her pockets. It was like he’d assaulted her, and perhaps in a way he had. At the time, it had felt good… almost vindictive and violent. But now that he’d had a moment or two to think about it, it just felt wrong.</p><p>He couldn’t apologize to her. That was completely out of the question…. But he could not deny that part of him genuinely wanted to.</p><p>A curt knock at his door heralded the arrival of Anna Bates. Thomas checked his pocket watch, amazed to find her still up. She ought to be in bed at this hour (he’d thought no one else was downstairs).</p><p>“Thomas-“</p><p>“Mr. Barrow, please Mrs. Bates,” he grumbled, striking out another line in his day planner. When Anna did not immediately reply, he glanced up and found her quite nervous in his doorway. She was fretting, curling her fingers about themselves and standing there with her mouth opened. He stopped writing, unsure of what she wanted.</p><p>“What?” He asked. Why was she so fearful?</p><p>“M… I think something’s wrong with Ms. Baxter,” Anna admitted in a rush.</p><p>“Wrong how?”</p><p>“She’s been acting off all day but… just now…” Anna pointed over her shoulder, out into the darkened hallway. “I saw her downstairs in her nightdress of all things. She’s never done something that brazen before.”</p><p>The idea of Baxter coming downstairs in her nightgown was disturbing. That wasn’t something any sane woman would do, particularly a servant who lived in a house with ten other men she wasn’t related to. Thomas’ heart began to beat a little quicker in his chest.</p><p>“What was she doing?” Thomas asked.</p><p>“She was watching me,” And it clearly had unnerved her. “She said she always envied me. Then she told me to be good to somebody and…. And she just walked off.”</p><p>Thomas stood up, all thoughts of having an easy night abandoned. He left his office, not even bothering to lock the door in case O’Brien came back down.</p><p>“Where did she go?” Thomas looked left down towards the area door and right back into the servant’s hall.</p><p>“I have no idea, I told you she just walked off towards the servant’s yard… but… she wouldn’t dare go out there in her under clothes!”</p><p>Thomas pushed past Anna, hurrying to the area yard door. He paused, noting that the key which normally hung on a wall hook was in the lock as if someone had opened it without bothering to lock it back.</p><p>He opened the door and saw a set of bare footprints drifting through the snow and out into the darkened night.</p><p>“… Get Richard,” Thomas ordered, walking out into the snow after Baxter.</p><p>“What?” She called out, confused.</p><p>“Get Richard!” He didn’t mean to shout at the woman, but to be quite frank he was terrified. Thomas stumbled off, his pace getting faster and faster as he ran out into the night. He followed Baxter’s footprints as they took him through the area yard out onto a gravel path that lead in a large loop around the house. In spring, green fields went in loops and bounds until it turned into forest. In winter, it was nothing but a sea of white that eventually met black.</p><p>There, far out in the distance, was Phyllis Baxter. She was walking towards the lake.</p><p>“PHYLLIS!” Thomas shouted at the top of his voice. She did not stop, did not turn; he took off running.</p><p>Snow and icy wind whipped at his cheeks, tinging them pink with a blood rush. He could see in his mind’s eye how she’d been so pale upon receiving that letter. How she hadn’t eaten dinner, how she’d been acting like a ghost in human form.</p><p>Why hadn’t he seen the signs? Why had he been so goddamn content to think she’d continue on?</p><p>The reason she’d unnerved him was because he’d been seeing the look of a person on the brink of suicide. He’d known the look because he’d once worn it.</p><p>He’d not run this fast since he’d been a child being chased by school bullies. Emblazoned by the danger that Baxter was in, Thomas was full of adrenaline; the cold grass was sharp against his ankles and shins, the frost turning into tiny razors as he cut through the field. He could see her just up ahead, the light of the moon illuminating her pale skin and white shift. She was standing upon an aged dock that cut into Grantham lake, a place where Matthew Crawley had often enjoyed fishing before he’d died. Bending over, she was fiddling with something at her feet.</p><p>He still had too much ground to cover. He was powerless to stop her as she stood back up straight, something in her hands. His heart sank to his stomach as he realized it was the anchor for Lord Grantham’s lone remaining fishing boat.</p><p>“PHYLLIS STOP!” He screamed as he ran, wishing that he had wings so that he might be able to fly. His heart was pounding in his ears, a cold sweat dripping down his temples. His tongue felt fuzzy in his mouth, like this were some kind of solid shite nightmare he could not wake up from. “STOP!”</p><p>She did not stop.</p><p>She walked off the edge of the dock and crashed right through the thin sheet of ice that covered the lake. She vanished from sight, sinking swiftly into a black icy hole.</p><p>The water would be blindly cold. It would not take exceedingly long for her to become hypothermic or even paralyzed with frostbite. Her muscles would struggle to contract, her heart would stutter in her ribs.</p><p>Her baby would die without even knowing life.</p><p>Refusing to stop, to even shed his jacket, Thomas stormed the dock like a soldier taking the front lines and flung himself headfirst right through the hole that Baxter had made.</p><p> </p><p>At once, he regretted it.</p><p>The water was so cold that it was hot, like fire liking his skin as he forced himself to swim downward. It felt like ages, like pure solid hell as he grappled in the dark with knotted reeds and rotting timber of fallen dock beams. He waved his hands like a madman, eyes squinting to adjust to the gloom as muck obscured his vision.</p><p>When a ghostly arm flitted past his face, Thomas nearly had a heart attack. Panic turned to determination, however, and served as liquid courage as he grabbed Baxter’s arm to pull with all his might towards the surface.</p><p> </p><p>She would not budge. Something was wrong.</p><p>Thomas’ lungs were aching, burning from years of smoking and a sudden intense run. HE could not stop to gain breath, though. He dared not take even a moment to think of his own welfare. He had to get Baxter to the surface, and fast!</p><p>Something was trapping her, keeping her pinned to the lakebed. Using only the moonlight, Thomas groped with his hands down Baxter’s chest, stomach, thighs, and legs, searching for whatever it was that was holding her down. He found it in the form of the anchor, which had slipped from her hands upon her jumping to fall on one of her feet. Even in the dim light, darkened by muddied water, Thomas could see that Baxter’s foot was horribly bruised and swollen from the weight of the anchor.</p><p>He gave one last final push, grabbing the anchor with both hands and planting his feet on the mucky pond floor to pull up.</p><p>It would not budge.</p><p>Desperate for something, anything, Thomas spread his legs even farther and found a large boulder he could use for purchase. He could not pull the anchor off, not in his weakened state, but he could roll it the tiniest bit to the left.</p><p>Seizing his chance. He sprung from the lake floor and slammed hard into Baxter’s side, forcing her abused foot out from underneath the weight of the anchor.</p><p>At once, she began to float to the surface. He guided her upward, His right hand curled into a first so that as he reached the top he punched straight through the weak sheet of thin ice.</p><p>He gasped for air, choking on sludge and water; the taste was foul in his mouth. He dragged Baxter bodily from the pond, the ice cracking and giving way beneath them</p><p>But they were not finished yet.</p><p>Baxter was not breathing, water sliding sluggishly from the corner of her mouth where it mixed with her own saliva. Thomas collapsed upon the bank, with Baxter falling beneath him so that he in effect pinned her to the frozen, soggy earth.</p><p>Panic almost overtook him in that moment, but his training as a medic saved him.</p><p>Thomas grabbed Baxter by the chin and nose, steeled himself for the inevitable, and pressed his lips onto her to give her the kiss of life.</p><p>Again and again, he pumped air into her lungs, pushing at her tender stomach in a repetitive rhythm until he was lost in a haze.</p><p>She could not die.</p><p>He would not allow it.</p><p>And just for a moment, when he thought that all was lost, Thomas looked down onto the face of his closest and dearest friend with tears in his eyes. He was, in that moment, completely powerless to save the one thing that he most desperately loved from slipping through his fingers forever.</p><p>He was a child, clutching to her cold body. He was close to begging, praying that she would open her eyes.</p><p>“Please!” He breathed into her mouth again. “Please, Phyllis please!”</p><p>And again.</p><p>Again.</p><p>
  <em>Again. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>A sudden choking spluttering against his mouth gave him cause for hope. He looked down, and a golden wave of relief rushed over him as he saw Baxter spit out a mouthful of muddy water. She vomited, more water flooding the front of her ruined shift, and then began to breath in deep aching lungsful of air. For all the emotion it inspired within him, it was like operatic singing. He caressed her face with loving hands as her brown eyes fluttered open. For a moment, there was only him in her world set in front of a starry backdrop on a frozen winter night.</p><p><br/>“Wha…” she could not form proper words, her mouth too numb from cold and shock. “Wha-?”</p><p>She’d shown him so much kindness, in the fragile hours directly after his own suicide attempt. It was a good turn that deserved another in kind, and so he gave it to her in spades as he continued to stroke her face.</p><p>“It’s alright, Phyllis,” her Christian name was a mark of his own love for her. “You just… you just took a swim. That’s all.”</p><p>And as the memories came back to her of her own attempt, and what Thomas’ presence upon the banks must mean, her shock and confusion melted into absolute anguish. She burst into tears, and in a desperate attempt to be loved she put her arms about his neck so that she was cradled against his chest. Thomas held her there, both afraid to let her go and afraid to hold her too tightly in her fragile state. He petted her soaking hair, and pulled a weed out from where it had gotten stuck in her curls.</p><p>“I’m so sorry-“ she sobbed, her voice distorted to that of an animal for her wailing. But she had absolutely nothing to be sorry for. None of this was her fault, and he was determined that she know it.</p><p>“It’s alright, Phyllis,” He whispered in her ear. He wondered if she could hear him above her own crying. “I promise you, you are going to be alright.”</p><p>She pulled back a little, shaking in his arms as she told him the awful truth. “He… he wrote to me. He said he was going to kill my baby. I dunno how he knows but he knows an… an…” she took a great hiccupping breath, wiping more tears from her cheeks where they’d fallen hot and fast. “and I just thought… maybe if I… if I…. if I….” but she could not make it beyond the phrase ‘if I’. It seemed that she could not say the truth, the full extent of ‘<em>if I were the one to do it, it would be easier’. </em></p><p>So it seemed that the letter from her ‘mother’ had been from Coyle in disguise. No wonder she’d fled the servant’s hall. Tonight, O’Brien had mocked her, warning that she could very easily lose her baby due to her age. But now, Thomas realized that it had had nothing to do with Baxter’s age. It had been O’Brien playing on her fears… on Coyle’s letter. He cupped her face in his hands, the pads of his thumbs stroking her frozen cheeks. They’d catch their death of cold from this affair.</p><p>“I know…” and he did know. He knew what it felt like to want to die. Maybe, in that tender moment, she remembered his own moment of weakness and heartache.</p><p>Exhausted, she collapsed against his chest; the shock had worn off, along with the adrenaline, and now she was close to fainting from the trauma.</p><p>“…Please…” she whimpered against his soaking collar bone. “Don’t leave me.”</p><p>A wave of fierce protectiveness rolled through him. He caressed her as tenderly as he might a lover. In a way, they were lovers, but of a peculiar kind. He loved her as tenderly as he’d ever loved another human being, and the idea of her being harmed even by her own hand could not be tolerated.</p><p>“I will never leave you,” He swore, pressing his lips to the crown of her head. “Ever.”</p><p> </p><p>Far and away, the sound of a motorcar rumbled to life. Thomas looked out across the stretch of lawn to see headlights glowing bright, ever larger as the car approached. For a moment, he was dazzled in the light and could not see, till the glare was diminished by the turn of a wheel as the car came alongside.</p><p>Branson was driving, with Anna and Richard in the backseat. Richard got out first, swinging his legs over the edge of the door and hopping out. He darted over to Thomas’ side, hands upon his thighs as he bent over.</p><p> </p><p>Thomas continued to hold Baxter tightly to his breast, eyes locked on Richard. The sympathy and sorrow that Thomas found in his eyes made him want to be physically ill.</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>It was with tender loving care that Thomas and Richard lifted Phyllis into the backseat of the car. Branson was hesitant, an outsider intruding upon their sorrows, but ever present of the staffs concerns. Perhaps in times like these he was reminded of his background, and the truth of his heritage. They returned to the area yard, and Thomas carried Baxter in his arms like a small child through the door while Anna went ahead and phoned for Dr. Clarkson. Richard went to the kitchen and made up a kettle of hot water, while Branson drove to the village to pick Dr. Clarkson up from his house. With the downstairs clear of nosy co-workers, Thomas put Baxter in front of the servant’s hall fireplace which was burning the brightest and could offer her the most heat. In his favorite rocking chair, she lay almost on the verge of sleep. Exhaustion painted her now in shades of porcelain, more of a doll than a human being. But inside the shell of her abalone skin, Thomas knew a beautiful say lay hidden. It was this which he treasured, and this which he had striven to save tonight.</p><p>His dearest friend.</p><p>His dearest Baxter.</p><p> </p><p>Dr. Clarkson arrived, and offered Thomas a reprieve to tend to his own person. It was only then that he realized his trousers had several holes in them, which had come from his battle with the anchor. He’d even scratched himself, but the cut was superficial and easily mended with a bit of antiseptic. His spare trousers had mercifully just come out of the wash, and though they weren’t fully dry they were usable for the time being. Thomas would simply have to hang them near the fire tonight in hopes of drying them out before morning.</p><p>He changed his clothes, allowing Anna to throw the rest of his suit in the wash to soak, and wiped his skin clear of muck from the bottom of the lake. His deformed hand was beginning to ache from the biting cold. He massaged it carefully, returning to the hall if only to make a cup of cocoa for himself and Baxter. Richard took that moment to examine his trousers, turning them inside out to see if they could be mended from their tears.</p><p>Dr. Clarkson had Baxter wrapped in a flannel blanket before pulling Thomas aside, speaking to him from the privacy of the hall to the area door while Anna and Richard kept Baxter company by the fire.</p><p> </p><p>“Well the baby’s safe, thanks to you,” Dr. Clarkson praised him, pulling his coat from the hook on the wall and shrugging it on. “Your timely actions saved both their lives tonight. But I’ll want to look in on her tomorrow to ensure she doesn’t catch cold. She’ll need to sleep with plenty of blankets tonight. I recommend her diet consist of soup tomorrow, something simple to digest and keep down.”</p><p>“We can do that,” he agreed.</p><p>As Dr. Clarkson headed to the door, he looked like he had something to say. Apprehensive, he finally turned and asked, “Are you going to be alright?”</p><p>“Me?” It was a funny thing to ask when Baxter was crumpled by the fire.</p><p>“Sometimes when… we have a great shock… we are susceptible to darkness.” Dr. Clarkson advised. He supposed he could gather at what the man was asking; Thomas’ eyes drifted down the hall to where Richard was now massaging Baxter’s shoulders with gentle hands.</p><p>“So I’ll ask again, will you be alright?”</p><p>He didn’t want to think about such things; his mind was often on the verge of trailing into darkness. Even the mention of its name, of its very existence, threatened to bring it back again.</p><p>“… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Thomas deflected. “Mr. Branson will drive you home. Thank you for caring for Ms. Baxter.”</p><p>He left Dr. Clarkson, walking down the hall to return to his fellows. With his back to the man, he did not see how Dr. Clarkson watched him with worried eyes. How his mouth flickered with a wince.</p><p> </p><p>In the hall, he found the cups of cocoa that he’d prepared still undrunk. He sat in the chair across from Baxter which Anna had recently occupied and offered Baxter her cup. Anna took Richard’s position, deciding that now would be a good time to braid Baxter’s hair and get all the muck of it that she could before it dried in the warmth of the fire and made a tangle. Richard began to look over Thomas’ trousers again, using the light of the fire to better examine the rips.</p><p>“I’m not Mrs. Patmore, so, lower your expectations,” He said to Baxter. She took a sip, bristled, then set the cup aside.</p><p>“Bit lower,” Thomas said. Baxter just shook he head.</p><p>“I’m sure it’s fine,” Anna said. She took up her own cup and sipped it, only to make a face. “Did you put any sugar in it?”</p><p>“Does sugar go in it?” He wondered. Anna sighed petulantly, perhaps wondering if all men were so terribly dense when it came to simple pleasures. Clearly sugar did go in cocoa.</p><p>Richard took a sip, shrugged, and returned to Thomas’ clothes. “Well it’s better than these trousers.” He pulled the legs right side out, and folded them over his arm, “Hate to be coy, but you could sweeten someone up with how many holes are in them.”</p><p>“I’ll save them for a first date,” he grumbled.</p><p>“You’re going to attract all the wrong attention, as my mother would say.”</p><p>“My favorite kind,” Richard set his trousers to dry over a linen rack which normally held tea towels.</p><p>“They’re a wreck, you won’t be able to fix them,” Richard said. “I could mend it, but the fabric has a striped pattern and any line I sew might result in the wave being thrown off. His lordship could notice, and then Carson would do his nut. Best just give it up for lost and get a new pair.”</p><p>“Hurray, more money I don’t have,” He complained. “Hey maybe I’ll get gangrene and die before I have to buy a new pair.”</p><p>“Don’t joke,” Richard warned. “I saw that up close in Ypres; grown men crying for their mothers while their toes rotted off from trench foot. I prefer you with twenty toes, so let’s strive to keep it that way.”</p><p>“Richard… who the hell has twenty toes?” Richard did a double take, suddenly realizing his slip up.</p><p>“Christ, I need coffee,” He gave it up for lost and headed for the kitchen.</p><p>“Bring the sugar back when you do,” Anna asked. “Let’s see if we can salvage the cocoa.” He waved her off in silent agreement.</p><p>“Twenty fucking toes,” Thomas wondered to Baxter, only to note that she still wasn’t looking at him. He then looked to Anna who was on the verge of smiling if the situation weren’t so dark. “D’you hear that? What does he think I am? An octopus?”</p><p>“I don’t think they have toes, Mr. Barrow,” Anna said.</p><p>Richard returned, French press in one hand and a bowl of sugar in the other. He offered it to Anna, who doled out a spoonful to each cup. She then returned Baxter her cocoa, who took a hesitant sip.</p><p>She swallowed, and sipped again, clearly success had been achieved.</p><p>“Spoon full of sugar helps everything.” Anna said.</p><p>They were silent for a moment, each of them drinking from their respective cups. When they’d gained enough of their senses back to stop thinking people had twenty toes, Thomas turned his attention to Baxter who was hesitant to meet his eyes. Perhaps in this moment she was ashamed just as he’d been when he’d woken up from his own attempt.</p><p>“… I technically kissed you,” Thomas said. Baxter glanced at him, and when she found his gaze friendly, she held it a moment longer. “Several times.”</p><p>“I can taste cigarettes in my mouth,” She said.</p><p>“Well then I suppose we both hated it,” he said. The tiniest flicker of a smile on her lips gave him great hope. If one had humor, they weren’t beaten.</p><p>A beat of silence passed again. When it was safe to say Baxter wasn’t going to reveal her soul to them without prompting, Thomas finally asked, “Why did you do it?”</p><p>She sniffed, turning to look into the fire to avoid the judgment of their gazes.</p><p>“…he wrote to me,” She whispered. “Said he knew I was pregnant. God only knows how.”</p><p>Thomas glanced at Richard, who was mentally cursing himself. They both knew exactly how; O’Brien had surely told Coyle.</p><p>“He said that he was going to kill my baby. That he was going to kidnap me and…” She shook her head, unwilling to go on. “I suppose I just thought… maybe… it would be better if….” She did not go on for a moment, having to re-steel herself for the damning truth of her own misery. “Maybe it would better if I killed us both. To spare us the agony of torture and rape. Of a long drawn out death. I guess I’m a coward.”</p><p>Baxter was many things but not a coward. This situation was so complicated on so many levels that no easy solution could be offered least of all by Thomas. Neither Anna nor Richard spoke, maybe they were waiting for him to take the lead. Maybe in this situation, Thomas was the only one who could console Baxter. And perhaps it was a strain he was willing to take on.</p><p> </p><p>“When I was in the trenches, during the great war, I saw something rather incredible,” Thomas began. Baxter did not look at him, but she was listening. There was an intensity to her gaze though it lingered on her lap. “Incredible in a good way, which was rare for what we were doing. We didn’t have much to eat, and we were open to the elements almost constantly. The only relief that we could find was by digging out a pit and sleeping in it. And rats often slept with us, which was fine because we’d eat them when rations were low… and they were always low.”</p><p>Funny how it was easy to talk about now. For so many years it had been awful to dwell on.</p><p>“Men were not well,” He admitted. This was the understatement of the year. “They were tired. They coughed a lot. Most had some form of flue or trench foot… No one was ready to go over the top into no mans land, despite it being asked of us. There was this aura of exhaustion all around. You were just…”</p><p>He didn’t know how to put it properly into words.</p><p>“So fucking tired,” He finally cursed. “And when you’re tired like that all the time, you sometimes forget what it means to be normal. To feel normal. To act normal.”</p><p>Baxter slowly began to look up, till her eyes were upon his own. Perhaps she knew what he was trying to say.</p><p>“But in that abnormality, in that exhaustion, you’d be privileged to see something incredible,” Thomas said. “You’d see men become heroes. You’d see them spring to their feet, like they’d gotten a full night’s sleep and had a good meal to eat. You’d see them run faster than a horse to save a friend in trouble. A fellow soldier, on the ground, in danger of gas. That energy, that inability to be stopped… when you see it, it’s shocking.”</p><p>He smiled, a memory in particular coming to him through the brown haze of time.</p><p>“I remember I saw a man….” He paused, realizing he had to give more information for the story to make sense. “An ambulance was blasted onto its side by a bomb. A nurse who’d been loaded patients into the back of it was trapped underneath. The mud was so thick that she was liable to be suffocated, and if that hadn’t gotten her, gas surely would have. I saw a man… one man…” He held up a finger just to make a point. “I saw him lift that entire ambulance up with his bare hands and pull the nurse free saving her from certain death. Like it were nothin’ but tin an’ scrap. Like it were easy.”</p><p>There were tears in Baxter’s eyes. That exhaustion which hung like an aura all around her was the very same exhaustion Thomas had known in the war. To him in that moment, she was the nurse under the ambulance. So, he knew what he had to do.</p><p>“I know you’re tired, Phyllis,” He assured her. “I know you’re tired because I’m tired too. I’m tired of being afraid of an enemy I can’t see and can’t beat. I’m tired of losing to unshakable odds. I’m tired of watching you be trapped under an ambulance I can’t lift. So… I have a proposition for you. An investment.”</p><p>“What kind of investment?” She whispered.</p><p>He pointed to her still flat stomach, “That kind. And because of that investment we’re not going to be tried anymore. We’re not going to be scared anymore. We’re not going to lose to Peter Coyle.”</p><p>Still she was unconvinced. “Thomas, you can’t stop him. The things he said in the letter-“</p><p>“One can can’t lift a car,” He agreed. “But I saw it happen and a woman’s life was saved for it. It’s going to happen again because I’m going to beat Peter Coyle for you. All I ask you to do is put your trust in me. Put your faith in me… and I won’t let you down.”</p><p>Like a child, she wondered at his strength. At the impossibility of his words. “How?” Her voice was so tiny and smile.</p><p>He supposed it boiled down exactly to how the soldier had lifted the car. “I’m going to look at you in danger, and I’m going to be filled with that righteous energy. That determination to save something I love. And I’m going to lift that car with my bare hands. I suppose it all comes down to the fact that I’m a monster, whether we want to admit it or not. I’m a very bad man,” Baxter’s bottom lip quivered, but her cheeks remained dry.</p><p>“But I can be a very good man for you,” He said, and by god he meant it to his core. “I can be the man you need if you believe in me. I can save you if you let me.”</p><p>She wondered at him, as if he were an angel in that moment. In a way he was, offering to do battle with a demon that had had her pinned for too long.</p><p>She shuddered, amazed, and then admitted to something which stunned him.</p><p>“If you’d be normal… if you were… if we could have…” She took a breath, a tiny hitch in her chest. “It would have been you.”</p><p>He didn’t understand, until she went on. “I would have married you. I wanted to marry you.”</p><p> </p><p>He cupped her hands in his own, holding them in the air between their knees. “Oh Phyllis,” He wondered at it, at how his life might have been if he’d been able to love women like a normal man should. He supposed he could do much worse than Phyllis Baxter.</p><p>Indeed, if he could have loved any woman, it probably would have been her.</p><p>“If only I could have been so lucky,” He finally said.</p><p>With trembling fingers, she squeezed his hands. In that grip, he felt the vestiges of her strength and personality, still lingering on despite the fear she must have felt. It was more precious to him than she could realize.</p><p>“Doesn’t it shock you?” She finally asked. “That I was in love with you?”</p><p>“No,” He said.</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“Because I love you too,” He said with a gentle smile.</p><p>She shuddered, eyes falling closed so that two fat tears rolled down her cheeks. But these were not tears of sorrow; they were of relief. Of exhaustion. It was 12:51, she needed to go to bed.</p><p>“Let’s go to bed,” Thomas said, rising up from his chair and pulling her with him. “And tomorrow we’ll… see what we can about lifting this damn car. Alright?”</p><p>She looked up into his face with wonder, her cheeks and eyes shining, and finally laid her head upon his collarbone to rest there for the moment. She was as light to him as a feather; he put his arms carefully around her, holding her to him.</p><p>Behind her back, Anna was watching Thomas with a newfound sense of wonder; it was as if, in that moment, she’d seen him in a new light for the first time in twenty years and was stunned at what she’d found. Richard, on the other hand, was just beaming at Thomas like he were the hero of the hour.</p><p> It was all the praise he needed to know he’d done the right thing.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>
  <b> triggers include suicide attempt (unsuccessful) by drowning </b>
</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Sarah's Blunder</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Unable to get rid of Baxter, O'Brien shifts her sights to Thomas Barrow and in doing so makes a terrible mistake.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>warnings for this chapter include references to suicide both past and present. </p><p>I apologize for this chapter taking so long. This chapter contains a massive amount of information that needed to be conveyed at appropriate time, so it was important to me to go over it several times until I felt that everything I wanted had been put into flesh and form. I hope that makes up for the delay. </p><p>Wash your hands, wear a mask, social distance. I don't want any of my readers to die from Covid.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Though he ought to have told Moseley the truth, Thomas did not confide in him about Baxter’s suicide attempt. Something was holding him back, though he couldn’t rightly claim what, and as a result those that knew remained solely in the group of those that had been present. The only slip up came in the form of Branson, who ventured downstairs the next day to ask if Baxter was feeling better.</p><p>From experience, Thomas knew it would take quite a while for Baxter to truly feel ‘better’.</p><p>The first week after her suicide attempt, Thomas spent every waking moment ensuring that Baxter was kept away from O’Brien and in the company of people like Daisy and Anna who cheered her up. Anna was a relentless ball of sunshine, and began to incorporate Baxter into her plans again, just as she had done before the reveal of Coyle. She wasn’t the only one who was starting to come around. Enthused by the news of her pregnancy, and by her upcoming wedding, Daisy was back in Baxter’s good books and wanting to help her plan for everything. The table was full of talk about the future; only Thomas knew that internally Baxter was still waging war with her past. The only true difficulty now was the day to day presence of O’Brien. Unable to get close to Baxter anymore without someone inevitably getting in the way and telling her off, she was starting to grow desperate.</p><p>Desperation was a bitter mistress, and it left a nasty taste in O’Brien’s mouth.</p><p>It was a chilly Tuesday afternoon and close to the hour for tea. The family was upstairs, enjoying a cup in solitude (sometimes they went through difficult moments after the Dowager’s death), allowing the servants to enjoy their own downstairs without much fuss. At the servant’s table, Thomas sat with Baxter, Anna, Daisy, and Richard. Anna and Daisy were now smothering Baxter with ideas for her wedding, using a borrowed notebook from Mrs. Hughes to write down ideas. Down at thee far end, O’Brien watched everything, waiting for a moment when Baxter would be alone just long enough for her to strike.</p><p>It wouldn’t happen. Thomas wouldn’t allow it.</p><p>“We’ll sit everyone at a buffet spread, just like Mrs. Hughes’ wedding,” Anna pointed in turn to different sections of her sketch, denoting where people could sit. Thomas was pleased to note that he was to sit next to Baxter. “Mrs. Patmore has already offered to bake your cake.”</p><p>“We can put it here-!” Daisy was far too excited, cutting over Anna as she pointed to the center buffet table which by rights ought to be for main meals and veg (the cake usually went to the side next to the champagne). “Let’s sit it next to the punch bowl so that everyone can look at it. I always regretted not doing that at mine.”</p><p>Baxter was blithely amused and shrugged in mild agreement. It seemed that for her, the fine details of her wedding were less important than the overall picture and happiness that the day brought.</p><p>“I suppose so,” She agreed. “I’m not fussed.”</p><p>This prompted Daisy to take out a little sketch book, in which Thomas could see that she had doodled several butterflies of various designs. She flipped to a clean page, denoted it ‘Baxter/Moseley wedding’, and then began sketch out the basic design of a three-tiered cake.</p><p>“Now, what do you want your cake to look like?” Daisy asked. “Do you want bows? Flowers? Pearls? I can do it all, you know.”</p><p>“Oh well…” Once again, Baxter came up short. She glanced to Thomas, who shrugged. If she thought he was going to pitch cake ideas, she was out of her league. “I never thought about it I suppose.”</p><p>“Well think about it,” Thomas said. “What do you want?”</p><p>For a moment, silence reigned as Baxter pondered her wedding cake. Then a tiny smile spread on her thin lips as she said, “Wildflowers, I think…. I always liked thistles, or purple things.”</p><p>“I can do those!” Daisy wrote down the notes at once. “Purple flowers… wild flowers… thistles… You know, I could make a crown for them at the top.” And she sketched it out to show Baxter. She was quite impressed, and it struck Thomas by surprise that Daisy was (when all was said and done) damn good and designing confectionaries. If she opened up her own shop in the village, she’d make a fortune selling tea cakes to blue haired biddies.</p><p>As Daisy sketched, Thomas decided to shift the conversation away from cake and back towards the wedding in general. “I’ve spoken with his Lordship, and he’s agreed that one small piece from the family silver can be used for the wedding reception.”</p><p>“That’s very kind of him!” Anna beamed.</p><p>Thomas had his own book of sorts, though it wasn’t full of butterfly sketches like Daisy’s. He pulled it out of his breast pocket to show Baxter a detailed assortment of silver pieces that fit Lord Grantham’s rules. He’d even gone so far as to sub-divide them into categories such as ‘plates’, ‘cups’, and ‘candlesticks’.</p><p>“I’m trying to figure out which one is the best,” Thomas explained. “There’s a very pretty flower vase that could work if you like wildflowers. It’s ornate, antique, all the show works, but small enough to still fit the rules. But then, there’s the wedding cake stand. That’s the obvious one to choose. Still, I never like to be obvious.”</p><p>Baxter pulled Thomas’ notebook over, examining in depth all the silver pieces that she could choose from.</p><p>“It’s not your wedding,” Anna teased, her grin turning cheeky.</p><p>“Let me dream,” if it were Thomas’ wedding, he wouldn’t want silver. Silver was for toffs and didn’t match his style. If he had a wedding, he’d like there to be pottery somehow… he’d always enjoyed earthy art-</p><p>“Dreaming is the only wedding you’ll ever get.”</p><p>It was the ugly reminder that they were not alone in the room. Slowly, eyes drifted to the far corner of the room, where their unwelcome guest sat watching.</p><p>It was a dangerous thing, to court the anger of Sarah O’Brien. But she was the sort of woman who made her presence known whether you liked her to or not. You couldn’t ignore, not for long… so the best thing do was parry with her until she lost interest and drifted away.</p><p>Richard folded his newspaper in half, glaring at her. “Don’t you have something better to do than to annoy us with your odious presence?”</p><p>She batted him off like a fly, “I might wander down to the village, to the police station. I’ve been thinking about making a report.”</p><p>He refused to allow even a flutter of a notion on the subject. He would clearly have to remind O’Brien for the rest of her time at Downton that they were on equal footing. “It takes what… about half an hour to walk down to the police station? It’d take me half a minute to walk upstairs to her ladyship’s dressing room. Quicker if I’m running. So I suggest that you find a method of travel that gets you to the village quicker than I can get to Lady Grantham.”</p><p>It was a clear warning, and one that could not go unnoticed. Unable to one-up Thomas, O’Brien shifted her tactics to Baxter.</p><p>Knowing now that Coyle had nearly sent Baxter to her death, Thomas’ hand clenched instinctively upon the tabletop. O’Brien could not be allowed near Baxter. A slight flick of her eyes made Thomas aware that Baxter knew he was angry. Perhaps she could understand why. She had no definitive proof that O’Brien and Coyle were linked (for Thomas still refused to tell her until he had a solution), but she’d grown more suspicious as the days had passed. The letter seemed to have ignite a dangerous energy within Baxter, as if her long dormant dark edge was beginning to take flight once again. Thomas had to wonder in retrospect who was more of a danger: O’Brien or Baxter.</p><p>“Listen to us, spatting over nothing…” O’Brien flicked a bit of broken grain off the edge of the table, her almond nails gleaming in the brass lights. “We’re taking all the attention away from your beautiful wedding reception.” She smiled at Baxter; it was a disturbing sight. “But aren’t you worried about Coyle crashing the whole event-“</p><p>“My worries and my wedding are not your concern.” Thomas had never heard Baxter speak with such a rude edge before. Her dark brown eyes had taken on a murderous edge that were wholly foreign.</p><p>She turned back to Thomas, the ugly tone evaporating to be replaced with her normal gentle voice. It was almost akin to Jeckle and Hyde.</p><p>“I want to see the vase you mentioned,” She said. “Can you pull it out?”</p><p>“I can do better than that,” Thomas said. “I’ll let you into the silver pantry and you can see it all for yourself.”</p><p>But O’Brien had so few opportunities to try and speak to Baxter that she was willing to take any option she got no matter how tense it was. She tried again for companionship but missed the mark: “I didn’t mean to press on a sensitive subject, I know you must be terribly concerned. I would be if I was in your shoes. After all, Coyle is an extremely dangerous man, and your wedding is your most important day of your life-“</p><p>But the mention of ‘life’ was something that seemed to set Baxter off. They hadn’t talked about the suicide attempt, not yet at least, but Thomas knew how it felt to want to die and understood that it wasn’t something you just shrugged on and off like a coat. It lingered there, a dark presence in the back of your mind, and it whispered in the silence of the night when you had nothing to do and nowhere to go. It made you doubt every decision you cast to reshape your future.</p><p>“And what do you know of my life?” She demanded angrily. Anna tensed, nervous at the shift in Baxter’s normally docile character. “Do you think you’re so sly, pretending to be nice to me? You think I don’t know that you’re up to something?”</p><p>“I can’t imagine what you mean,” O’Brien’s try for innocence was frankly laughable in the face of all her offenses.</p><p>“I think you do,” Baxter ground out through clenched teeth. “I think everyone in this house knows you’re hiding something… and if it weren’t for Lady Grantham you’d probably be in jail.”</p><p>“Or six feet under,” Richard muttered.</p><p>“On a good day,” Anna finished.</p><p>O’Brien was stuck between trying to be friendly and deny everything and wanting to wring Baxter’s thin little neck. It didn’t go in her character to be so kind in the face of anger. It was clear she really wanted to let the woman have it but if she did the game would be up and she could no longer claim to be an ally. Now she was the one who was stuck.</p><p>“Imagine… if you lost your one ally in this house,” Thomas could not help but rub salt in the wound. After the other night he really wanted the woman to feel some amount of panic or stress. Let her know what it meant to be terrified. “All the woe that would befall you. And all it would take is me.”</p><p>But this was old news. They understood their little duel. Each had a trump card to try and tackle the other. If he moved, she moved. If she moved, he moved. They were stuck.</p><p>“If you’re all going to attack me for simply making conversation, then I’ll take my button box and go somewhere else.” She decided, rising up to leave.</p><p>“Do you promise?” Richard simpered to her retreating back.</p><p>Finally free of O’Brien’s odious presence, the tension visibly fell in the room. Baxter let out a long sigh, Anna sat back in her chair, and Daisy stopped fretting with her pen cap. Thomas rubbed at his eyes, wishing he could just take a nap and be done with it.</p><p>“God, let her trip and break her neck,” Richard muttered under his breath, returning to his newspaper.</p><p>“Thomas, you have to do something,” Anna whispered, leaning in a bit. “You told Mr. Bates that you knew her biggest secret, and you keep holding it over her head in front of us, but can’t you just tell and get rid of her?”</p><p>It must have seemed so easy to her. There was a problem, and Thomas knew the way to fix it. In truth it was so much more complicated than any of them could have comprehended that Thomas felt like he was almost speaking to a child.</p><p>“Anna, if you have a fox in your garden, you remove the fox. You don’t set the garden on fire.”</p><p>“I still thinking you’re making a big mistake,” She warned, and maybe she was right. Unfortunately for her, Thomas could not confide in her either way.</p><p>In an effort to get away from Anna’s nagging and have a bit of air to breath, Thomas said to Baxter, “Shall we go to the silver pantry?”</p><p>“If you wish,” and she followed him out of the servant’s hall to his office.</p><p>The silver pantry was an internal chamber, locked by three separate bolts; Thomas was the only member of staff to have keys. As a footman, he’d dreamed of getting his hands on just one of the pieces, if only that he might sell it and make off with the profits. As a butler, Thomas understood implicitly that these pieces were each stamped with the Crawley family crest. If he’d attempted to sell it to a pawn broker, he’d have found himself clapped in irons. No silver agent worth his salt would be able to look at a piece in the Crawley collection and think that a servant had come by it honestly. Some of these items were over five hundred years old and had been in the Crawley family since before their nobility.</p><p>The most amazing piece by far was a silver pyx from the 14<sup>th</sup> century, before Henry the 8<sup>th</sup> had formed the church of England. It was during this time that the Crawley family had undoubtably aligned with their monarch’s reign and abandoned the Catholic faith in an attempt to stay in the king’s good graces. As a result, the pyx had been tucked away, left to hid in the silver vault and no longer desired. In truth, it was the most expensive piece in the entire vault for its age and history alone. It was smaller than the palm of one’s hand and carved with intricate and organic fern leaves.</p><p>Baxter beheld all of it in amazement, gasping audibly at the sight of the silver as Thomas turned on the light to the pantry. She even put a hand over her mouth. Thomas shut the door behind her, and re-locked it so that they were securely kept inside.</p><p>“The pirate’s treasure trove,” Thomas jested.</p><p>In the gleam and sparkle of a hundred pieces of silver, Baxter was like an angel. “My god, it’s beautiful,” She wondered. And indeed, it was.</p><p>“Well, it’s all yours,” Thomas said. He walked down an aisle, took a left, and showed Baxter all the vases just as she’d requested. “Here are the vases….” He bent over and pointed to three cake stands. “Those are the cake stands.” He had to crane his neck, looking around to fetch an ornate punch bowl. “And this is a punch bowl if you want it.”</p><p>He showed it to her, but she shook her head, so he put it back. It wasn’t his style either if he was honest.</p><p>“I think I want…” She stretched the ‘a’ in ‘want’, searching left and right until her eyes finally settled on a particularly lovely Garrard vase. “This one.”</p><p>At her request, Thomas pulled on a pair of white gloves and picked the vase up so that she could see it in detail. It was embossed with winged putti amongst swirling acanthus and swags of flowers and fruit, a classic staple in Victorian era silver. Amid all of this was a coat of arms for the Crawley family, two clasped hands which embodied both justice and loyalty as tenements of the Crawley clan. Beneath it, the wolf, a warning of all that it took to attain wealth in a difficult world.</p><p>“Good taste,” he praised her. “This is a Garrard vase, English stock… a classic in Victorian pieces. You can’t go wrong with that.”</p><p>But of course, Baxter did not know what a Garrard vase was. And even if she did, those sorts of things didn’t bother her. She, like he, might have viewed the finery with a wary eye but didn’t want it for herself. There was no point in it.</p><p>“How much is it worth?” She asked.</p><p>Good question. Thomas spent a few seconds in silence, ascertaining the value of a priceless piece of silver. If one thought of all the history, the weight, and the purity….?</p><p>“Around two hundred pounds, I’d wager,” Thomas mused.</p><p>“My god,” She was shocked by it and quickly handed him back the vase. He put it on the shelf, safe and sound for another day.</p><p>“Oh yes, yes she’s a beauty,” Thomas tugged off his gloves, pocketing them. “Shame for it to be stuck here on a shelf most of the time. Still I’m glad it’ll be there for your wedding. You deserve the best in life.”</p><p>But instead of agreeing with him, Baxter began to slowly crumple. It made Thomas’ heart ache, pulling terribly at the strings of his soul. He tried to summon up something to say that would make it better but fell short.</p><p>“I’m so ungrateful,” She whispered, shaking her head in self-disgust. “Because I want to die, and everyone is being so nice to me. What right do I have to wish to end my own life?”</p><p>But if there was anyone in the house who understood her struggles with suicide intimately, it was him. Taking the hard-earned knowledge, he’d been cursed with, Thomas said, “Every right because it’s your life.”</p><p>She glanced at him, and when she found him sorrowful, she was taken aback. “You think I don’t want to die? Even now when I have what I always yearned for?” After all, being with Richard was far and beyond his wildest imagination.</p><p>It must have struck a chord within her, because instead of telling him to shove off or insisting that he didn’t know what he was talking about, she was seized by sudden inspiration to ask, “How do you manage?”</p><p>It was a fair question though not one he enjoyed answering. Diving too deep into the abyss of depression made it glaringly obvious to him that his suicide attempt could be followed by another. He was simply too fragile himself to contemplate it for long.</p><p>“Minute by minute,” He admitted, and this was the honest truth. “I hold onto the barest thread of light in my life. I tell myself I cannot die to today…. I haven’t drunk a cup of tea yet or smoked a cigarette. I haven’t finished my work in my day planner or enjoyed a biscuit. It’s those sorts of things that help… a reminder that life needs to be lived even if I don’t want to live it.”</p><p>Baxter nodded, listening intently. But there was so much more that Thomas wanted to say to her. Biscuits and tea didn’t matter, not to him or her. This was about Coyle, and his determination to end her life. This was about how cruel and evil the world could be, tea aside, and how hard it was to get up and keep going it felt like the evil was relentless.</p><p>He reached out and gently clasped her by the shoulders; in that touch he poured his strength.</p><p>“… Please don’t leave me alone,” he begged. It was selfish, and probably rude… but it had to be said. “This world is an ugly place, and I can’t afford to lose you. Not when I love you so. Just… if it happens again and you feel that way, come sit with me for a while. An’ I swear to you, I’ll listen.”</p><p>She looked up at him, eyes glistening. Finding him such a strong support in that moment must have given her a boost of some type; she leaned in and pressed her face to his collarbone. He wrapped his arms around her, reveling in the weight and the warmth of her body. The feeling of her flesh, cold and sopping wet with murky water would haunt his nightmares for many years to come.</p><p>She let out a tiny shuddering breath, and then whispered, “I love you, Thomas.” And he knew in that moment that he loved her too. That in a way he had always loved her, and that he needed her more than he even needed Richard. She was to him, a priceless treasure. A reminder that the world could not be wholly bad if people like her existed.</p><p>“I love you too,” he said, and he meant every word.</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>Sarah would find no peace downstairs, so she sought it upstairs.</p><p>While Lord Grantham sat downstairs in the library being consoled by his daughter and son in law, Lady Grantham hid upstairs under the pretense of a headache. This, in fact, was a lie. She lay in bed, perfectly well, but allowed herself to be cared for by Sarah till the pair of them were sated in their solitude.</p><p>They’d been like this often when they were younger, hiding away from the world for hours and letting the time drift by in each other’s arms.</p><p>They were older now, it was difficult for them to be as exuberant as they’d been twenty years ago. Her back ended up hurting half the time, and Cora grew tired by the end of it. Now she lay in bed, a pink tinge to her skin while Sarah smoked at the window.</p><p>“I missed this,” Cora said. Sarah glanced at her, and found her almost asleep, relaxing upon her pillows. “Knowing you were watching over me.”</p><p>That put a bit of pride in her, which was sorely needed in these difficult hours.</p><p>“Are you alright?” She asked, “You look terrible.”</p><p>In truth, Sarah hadn’t looked ‘normal’ since India, and it burned her to know that her struggles could be seen even by a passing outsider. It was an ugly thing, to remember all that had occurred in that green hell. To know that even now, safe on England’s shores, she was still followed by the shroud of a hundred devils.</p><p>“Bit of bother downstairs,” Sarah said. “Barrow is being a nuisance. I wish I could be shot of him.”</p><p>Cora laughed, perhaps knowing full well what it felt like to hate Barrow. She sat up a bit more in bed, toying idly with the hem of her satin slip. “No so luck,” she agreed. “I don’t know why but Robert’s partial to him. And we can hardly bring Carson back when he’s got palsy. We’re stuck with him, I’m afraid.”</p><p>But then, Cora made a tiny noise of resentment and quickly said, “I shouldn’t say that, it’s ungenerous. He’s already had it rough enough without me pitching in.”</p><p>“Rough enough?” Sarah asked. Words like that were warnings that something was fluttering just underneath the surface of Downton Abbey. She wondered what had happened to him in the time that she’d been gone, for while she’d endured hell in India it seemed that Barrow had likewise been made to suffer at home. Probably some ridiculous scheme gone awry, she’d always been the brains of their operation. But then again, there were times when Sarah noted how the others seemed much more lenient on Barrow than they’d been before. They smiled, they talked just to stop and chat, and what was more at Christmas Sarah had noted that Barrow had received several presents which was frankly unheard of.</p><p>She’d received none.</p><p>Her suspicions were confirmed when Cora did not immediately make to explain. She pursed her lips, “I shouldn’t have said that.”</p><p>“What do you mean?” Sarah flicked the ashes from her cigarette out the window, so that they spilled away into a beautiful wind.</p><p>Sensing that she would get no peace on the subject, Cora said, “Things happened while you were gone, let’s just put it that way.”</p><p>The more that Sarah knew, the better she could sway things in her favor. Casting her finished cigarette out the window, Sarah came over to Cora’s bedside and sat down at the edge so that they were touching hip to hip. It was the tiniest moments like this, where she could simply be with her… could enjoy their privacy. Their intimacy.</p><p>Their connection.</p><p>“I could tell,” Sarah said, reaching out and cautiously touching one of Cora’s many spiraling curls that now hung gently upon her shoulders. “It’s different somehow downstairs. The way they talk to him. The way he acts. What’s happened? Why are they all being so peculiar?”</p><p>“Well…” Cora fidgeted a bit in her position, trying to sit up so that she could speak to Sarah more comfortably. “I don’t know how many people know. Or how much they know. I know the truth because Carson told Robert and I was there. So the reason you may not have heard anything is because some people just don’t know the truth.”</p><p>“But you do,” Sarah said. “Will you tell me? I might be able to fix things.”</p><p>In truth, ‘fix things’ constituted her finding the first shallow grave she could and shoving Barrow into it headfirst.</p><p>“You can’t, but…” Cora gave her a gentle smile. “You can at least not make it any worse.”</p><p><em>Excellent, </em>Sarah thought. <em>So it can be worse. That should be easy enough to manage. </em></p><p>“Worse?” Sarah asked.</p><p>Cora sighed, rolling her eyes to the canopy above her as if to ask God, <em>‘Why does it have to be me to say this’. </em></p><p>“About a year ago, maybe a little bit longer, Thomas was on the verge of losing everything,” Cora explained. She listened with rapt attention. “We couldn’t afford to keep on an under butler, and as I understand it he and Carson were at odds.”</p><p>“They always were like that,” Sarah agreed. “Even when I was here. They hate each other.”</p><p>“Well, it was terribly hard on him. That’s what Baxter told me,” Cora continued on. “You know how he was when he was younger, he could take anything on the chin, almost like a little warrior. But something seemed to change over the past few years. He seemed to lose his courage somehow. Or maybe it was his will… I’m unsure,” She admitted, before continuing on. “I don’t know how to put it other than to say that life is a battlefield and he’d become deaf to the cannon fire.”</p><p>Well that was a little vague, but she’d handle it. Sarah raised an eyebrow hoping to push her ever so gently onward.</p><p>“You have to promise not to say anything,” Cora said. “Because if something were to happen, I’d never forgive myself.”</p><p>“Of course,” Sarah lied, stroking her hair. “You know you can trust me.”</p><p>“He went upstairs, locked himself in the servant’s bathroom….” Cora took a moment, having to steady herself. In her mind’s eye, however, Sarah already knew what the end result of this sentence would be. “He slit his wrists.”</p><p>“Ah…” Sarah dropped her hand and closed her eyes, conjuring up the image of Barrow. Now that she thought of it, she’d noticed that he’d worn leather cuffs on both his wrists, which could just barely be seen poking out from beneath his livery. Normally that sort of item was used for people with weak wrists but… now it made sense.</p><p>They’d been covering his scars.</p><p>“Thank god, Baxter realized something was off,” Cora continued on, the warmth returning to her voice. “They’re so close, you know. Practically siblings. She’d left the house to help support Moseley on his first day as a teacher, and as I understand it she was halfway to the school when she realized that Thomas was in trouble. So she ran back to the house… She told me later that in a stroke of good fortune, she found Andrew coming out of his room and she convinced him to kick down the door of the bathroom. She called for Mrs. Hughes and Anna, who then went and got Dr. Clarkson and told Mr. Carson. It all unfolded from there. It was close, Dr. Clarkson told me… close enough to be just shy of death. It scared us all out of our wits. But he made it,” Cora gave a pained smile that didn’t truly reach her eyes. “But he’s also not been the same since. So I shouldn’t be ungenerous with him, because frankly I don’t want to push him towards another episode.”</p><p>Sarah made an ugly noise under her breath, already thinking of the untold damage she could do. Barrow as utterly in love with Ellis, but did Ellis know that he’d attempted suicide? Was it something that would serve as a deal breaker between the pair of them? And if so, could she get Barrow to try it again?</p><p><em>What the fuck are you saying? </em>A little voice whispered in the back of her mind. <em>How much do you really hate him? </em></p><p>And, unbidden, an image came to mind of Barrow as a youth. The very first time she’d met him he’d been nothing more than a hall boy moving up into second footman, young and wide eyed… so very impressionable.</p><p>Practically like a son to her.</p><p>“I shouldn’t have told you,” now Cora was clearly regretting it. “They don’t like you-“</p><p>“No one likes me,” Sarah muttered. At this point she was numb to it. “Even you don’t like me anymore… you’re far too infatuated with that little waif thing downstairs.”</p><p>Cora scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I admit, I fancied Phyllis… but it was never reciprocated.”</p><p>“Did she even know?”</p><p>“Oh heavens no. I dared not tell… I adored her in secret for ages, though I confess it. She’s so wonderful, you know… and so beautiful too. But it’s not like me to speak of my feelings like that. After all, I didn’t tell you I was sweet on you for two years.”</p><p>Ah, sweet memories were those.</p><p>“Even so,” Sarah murmured, not meeting Cora’s eyes. In truth, the anger broiled beneath the skin, threatening her with its heat and viciousness.</p><p>Pure unbridled jealousy for Baxter. Her beautiful form and face, her beloved reputation… her friendship with Thomas.</p><p>Sarah didn’t just want to get rid of Baxter. She wanted to wipe her off the face of the earth. To eat her, if only to consume her power and attain her life.</p><p>Cora was all she had, and until Baxter was gone, even that wasn’t safe.</p><p>“… I like you.”</p><p>That tiny little voice, so sweet and sincere, put a flicker of warmth into her cold dead heart. It reminded her of muggy nights on the outskirts of Rajwada Palace. Of a face that had soothed her when the demons of her past had circled too close.</p><p>Hellishly, the face of her deceased love came to her. Her beautiful brown eyes, her hair as black as berries and her simple smile. The glimmer of golden thread in her saree reflecting from the nearby firelight.</p><p>When Cora reached out to touch her, the memory was still fresh in Sarah’s mind. She needed to shake it off, to try and forget before she was swept up in a fit of ennui again.</p><p>“I need to take a walk,” Sarah pulled away, standing back up and re-buttoning her blouse. It wouldn’t do to look frumpy when everyone was on her tail. “This has put me off guard.”</p><p>Cora sat up fully, curling her knees to her chest like a child. Creamy skin poked up from beneath a sheet of satin.</p><p>“Sarah… please,” She implored. She glanced at her, doing up her wrist cuffs. “Please don’t upset him. I may not like him that much but even I know that he doesn’t deserve what he’s been given and… he’s like us.”</p><p>This, above all else, seemed to strike a nerve with Cora.</p><p>“If he knew about us he’d… he’d understand….” Cora said. “don’t you think? And that’s rare in this world.”</p><p>She gave a noncommittal shrug. The less Barrow knew about them, the better. In truth, she’d often debated telling him in the past but something had always held her back. Thank god she’d kept her mouth shut after 1920.</p><p>“Don’t worry,” Sarah did up her belt, and checked herself in the mirror to ensure that everything had been put to rights. Satisfied, she leaned over Cora and pressed a gentle kiss to her wrinkling brow. Age had changed them both. “I won’t let anything happen.”</p><p>“Okay,” and just like that, all her fears were put to bed.</p><p>But as Sarah left and shut the door behind her, she had to take moment out in the hallway to suppress her most primal urges of anger.</p><p>She’d been waiting for an opportunity like this. A way to strike at Barrow and knock the legs out from underneath his feet. Now, she had the ammo but didn’t know if she could use it properly. Baxter was a long shot to get rid of in the house, so long as Barrow was around. If she could just manage to get rid of him, she could finish the job and move on to more important matters.</p><p><em>“If he knew about us, he’d understand,” </em>Cora’s voice flitted around the darkest edges of her mind. She could sense images long repressed. Of ruby skies and heavy stone monuments. Of green spiraling out as far as the eye could see, and a naked beauty relaxing upon a broad windowsill.</p><p><em>“No one can understand,” </em>a dark eyed beauty said. <em>“What we are is beyond man’s understanding.” </em></p><p>She didn’t know which woman to believe.</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Three days past, and though nothing shocking had occurred Thomas could sense a shift in the waters. Baxter was starting to get stronger and for that he was unendingly grateful, but instead of sparring with people on an hourly basis and acting cold, O’Brien was gearing up for a fight. Thomas had known her for too long and too intimately to convince himself otherwise; when she schemed, she took on a much more controlled persona. Left without an ax to grind, she often spun out in disturbing directions. When she had something or someone to focus on, she could be as vicious as a shark with a blood lust.</p><p>It unnerved him, so Thomas ended up making sloppy mistakes like checking Baxter’s mail before she could read it and becoming hypervigilant about the state of the lock on his office door. At night, when he ought to get some sleep, he ended up staying awake waiting to hear the sounds of footfalls.</p><p>He heard nothing, but still slept fitfully.</p><p>Friday passed without much fuss. The family was fed with Moseley and Andy helping Thomas to hold court. After dinner, they cleaned up and continued on downstairs to begin their own meal. Tonight, it was an array of leftovers from last night along with freshly battered and fried cod which went down well on a cold winter’s night. It was still snowing heavily outside and as a result people were eager to eat a hot meal. Afterwards, a laziness overtook the staff so that minor tasks which ought to have fallen to the late hour were shoved off altogether. Rose played a small tune on the piano, Anna worked on her list of to-do’s for her baby, and Baxter read a magazine on bridal styles that would hopefully steer her towards a more fashionable (if frugal) wedding.</p><p>Exhausted, Thomas closed his eyes and allowed Baxter to whisper in his ear about styles and fabrics. The pair of them nattered back and forth, musing over the virtues of having purple accents versus indigo.</p><p>For this reason, and this reason alone, Thomas did not realize that O’Brien was staring at him from the opposite end of the table.</p><p>“See something you like?” O’Brien sneered.</p><p>Thomas opened his eyes, and noted that Richard and O’Brien were glaring daggers at each other. He let out a tiny groan in the back of his throat; Christ when would the fighting end? He was much too tired to endure this tonight. The battered cod had him feeling sleepy and sated.</p><p>“Hardly,” Richard certainly didn’t bandy words. “You’re making quite a close study of Mr. Barrow and Ms. Baxter.”</p><p>So she’d been staring at them? Thomas glanced to Baxter, who’d paused in her magazine reading. She, like he, was uneager for another fight.</p><p>“I just think it’s rather sad is all,” she shrugged, as if resigned to the sorrows of the world. The way she said the word ‘sad’ made Thomas’ ears prickle with caution. He knew a lead when he heard one.</p><p>Baxter let out a long, exhausted sigh. Bates stared at Thomas, the pair of them mentally battling with what they should say and if they should say it at all. Moseley opened his mouth, ready to start an argument, but Baxter shut him down.</p><p>“Joseph,” She warned. Moseley clamped his mouth down again.</p><p>But she had no sway over Richard, who was now in a staring contest with O’Brien, glaring at her.</p><p>“Don’t rise to it,” Anna urged.</p><p>Baxter’s eyes flickered between Richard and O’Brien.</p><p>“…Mr. Ellis, I shouldn’t poke the hornet’s nest,” Bates murmured.</p><p>Richard tried to return to his magazine, but it was clear that it was bothering him deeply and he could not genuinely enjoy his article until he’d shut O’Brien up for good.</p><p>He snapped, unable to ignore the elephant in the room anymore (he didn’t have much patience, Thomas noted). “Alright, I’ll poke. Why is it sad, Ms. O’Brien. Tell me your woes.”</p><p>O’Brien just tutted for a moment, carefully pulling her thread through clean before starting another row of whip stitches; she seemed to be working on a handkerchief that was frayed. “Well, Ms. Baxter is such a nice and wholesome young lady. It’s a shame that she has to keep the company of someone as indecent and unbalanced as our dear Thomas.”</p><p>Thomas scoffed; not this again!</p><p>“As if your definition of indecent means anything,” Anna muttered.</p><p>“He’s not indecent,” Baxter took a more direct approach. For all her praising of how Baxter was a sweet little girl, she certainly had a mouth on her where O’Brien was concerned.</p><p>“Do you know what he’s done?” O’Brien asked, tone far too calm for Thomas’ liking. Now, he was scrounging in his head for all the horrible things he’d done over the years and how they might apply to Baxter.</p><p>But Baxter did not answer. She rolled her eyes, irritated, and gave Anna a dark look. Anna silently agreed with it, the pair of them sharing a secret woman’s language of sarcasm.</p><p>“I only mean to say, it’s rather dire when you think of the… biblical implications,” O’Brien pulled her stitches clear again. Well, if it was biblical, it had to be his homosexuality.</p><p>“If I was you, I’d be very careful to avoid anything biblical,” Moseley said. Of all the pious people at the house, he certainly was near the top of the list even if he had shagged an unmarried woman and gotten her pregnant out of wedlock.</p><p>“I’m amazed you can pick up one without it catching on fire,” Anna muttered. This seemed to make O’Brien angry, which was a little peculiar.</p><p>“Get back in the knife box before you cut yourself,” She snapped. Anna bristled, unhappy to be called out so publicly and forwardly, “You’re a child playing a woman’s game and you’re going to get yourself hurt.”</p><p>Anna looked around the rest of the table as if to say, ‘<em>is anyone else hearing this</em>?’. Richard, across the way, flipped a page in his magazine.</p><p>“This is excellent practice for when Johnny get’s a mouth on him,” Richard sneered.</p><p>“If Johnny spoke to Anna like that, I’d swat him,” Bates said. It was as good a threat as any, but their baby had never shown signs of an attitude.</p><p>“Look I’m not trying to make friends here,” O’Brien said, which was meet with a chorus of annoyed titters from all around the table. Even normally stoic people like Bates and Moseley looked ready to throw in the towel. The day maids at the far end of the table nearest O’Brien were hiding in her shadow, both curious at the display and frightened of the rising tensions. Rose had stopped playing on the piano.</p><p>“Seriously, I do care about you whether you choose to believe it or not,” O’Brien said to Baxter. “Her ladyship is partial to you, and I’m partial to her ladyship. So I’m worried about you being allowed to associate with him when-“</p><p>“Excuse me,” Baxter cut her off, “But forgive me if I don’t find you genuine. And no one lets me associate with <em>anyone, </em>Mr. Barrow included. I’m a grown woman and I can make my own decisions.”</p><p>“If you’ll let me finish, I’m trying to say that you associating with him is a bad decision when he’s unstable emotionally.”</p><p>That threw Thomas so hard and so fast through a loop that he almost got vertigo. Bewildered, he set down his teacup and drawled, “I beg your pardon?”</p><p>“Don’t try to deny it,” O’Brien sneered. “Her ladyship told me everything when it comes to your sorrowful swan song. The fact that they even let you stay on in this house after what you did is appalling.”</p><p>Thomas’ heart was beginning to beat a little faster in his chest. Emotionally unstable, sorrowful swan song… what did she know? What had Lady Grantham told her? Did she know about last July?</p><p>The idea put a cold sweat down his back.</p><p>He glanced left and right, noting that the housemaids were now goggling at the whole display with a mix of horror and curiosity. Richard was close to losing his temper, and Albert the hallboy was within ear shot. This sort of conversation could not be allowed to continue.</p><p>“Ms. O’Brien, I think it’s time we spoke in my office,” Thomas rose out of his chair, attempting to take control of the conversation. Instead, the reigns of control were yanked neatly out of his hands by Richard.</p><p>“No I want to hear this,” he sneered, clearly of the opinion that Thomas was innocent. “I want to hear what pathetic excuse she’s got this time, to insist your emotionally unstable. Let’s here what lie she’d like to tell, it might be amusing.”</p><p>But a glance at Anna and Baxter was all Thomas needed to know that they were both coming to the same conclusion he was. Somehow, someway, O’Brien had found out about July… and she was going to tell <em>everyone. </em></p><p>“It’s hardly a lie, when her ladyship was the one who told me,” O’Brien said. “Quite the scandal it was too. And all over job troubles, as if that’s any excuse…. He thought he’d lost everything, so what else did he have left to lose?”</p><p>A fragile silence fell, with Richard waiting for Thomas to rebuff it. Next to him, Baxter was on pins and needles, her fingers clenched tight around her notebook of wedding ideas. Knowing full well that he was on the verge of being found out, Thomas decided to go for broke.</p><p>“You’re bluffing,” He warned.</p><p>O’Brien smiled; it was a sinister and sour thing to behold. “Doesn’t it bother you… to have to use that bathroom?” She asked.</p><p>It was like ice had slid down his throat. Thomas exhaled; his breath shaky as he tried to steady himself. Her words had hit him incredibly hard, like a solid punch to the gut. The fact of the matter was, it had been exceedingly hard in the first months after his suicide attempt to use the bathroom, so much so that he’d resorted to using the lavatory downstairs and bathing in his room with a bucket. It had taken ages till he’d felt comfortable bathing in the same bathtub that had nearly been his grave.</p><p>It was difficult for him to know what to say to de-escalate the situation. Indeed, he didn’t think it was possible at this point. His defense was shallow and frankly pathetic, but fortunately he had backup. After months of having Thomas defend her tooth and nail, Baxter began to come back to life like a sabretooth tiger.</p><p>“Don’t you dare,” She warned O’Brien. “Don’t you say another word.”</p><p>Anna, at the far side, put two trembling fingers over her mouth; she was almost chewing at her nails in worry. Bates watched all of this, perhaps sensing that something was off with his wife. Moseley was ready to defend, but he like the others was out of the loop. Worst of all, he seemed to sense that Thomas was in the wrong.</p><p>Richard was clueless. His confusion cut Thomas deeply, like he was an innocent child about to be defiled.</p><p>He’d never wanted Richard to know the truth.</p><p>“What’s going on?” Richard asked.</p><p>O’Brien’s insidious little grin developed into a tight ‘o’ of mocked surprise.</p><p>She’d known that Richard was in the dark; somehow, she’d figured it out and was now going to play him for filth.</p><p>“I’m shocked you don’t know, when you’re so dear to him,” O’Brien’s bony fingers danced in a slow methodical pull around the rim of her chipped teacup. Though she spoke to Richard, she stared at Thomas, and like a fish being sucked into the mouth of a larger, Thomas had no choice but to accept his fate.</p><p>He was looking into the vortex of hell.</p><p>“Yes, we had a little bit of a job problem, and couldn’t the way forward anymore. So what does he do? He goes upstairs, takes his straight razor, locks the bathroom door, and cuts his wrists in the tub to drown in his own blood like a-“</p><p>But whatever he might have tried to drown like, Thomas never found out. In a rage, Baxter jerked from her seat to shout at the top of her lungs, “Shut your filthy mouth!”</p><p>Indeed, a whole cacophony of voices had risen, one from every corner, but Thomas could barely discern what they were saying. He was too focused on the way that O’Brien was watching him. They were immune to the commotion; they were waging war on an internal battlefield and she’d just blown his infantry to smithereens with a well-placed canon ball.</p><p>“How dare you speak about that in front of the others?!” Moseley’s anger for the others clearly consisted of the day maids who were scandalized and poor Albert the lone hall boy. He, above all others, looked frightened to death to learn that his butler was suicidal. So much of the boy’s existence hinged upon Thomas holding court and keeping him employed with steady work. It must have felt like the sun had gone out, to him.</p><p>In the doorway, Albert was clutching his wooden carrying tray to his chest like it were a shield to save him from the truth. “I won’t believe it!” he cried out, “I can’t believe it!”</p><p>Next to him stood Daisy. She was frozen to the spot, disturbed by these allegations but seeming to understand the truth in them. Her eyes were focused upon her husband, whose damning silence seemed to confirm for her that much more was going on. Daisy looked like she might be sick. She put a hand to her mouth as if to suppress an acidic burp.</p><p>Anna was horrified; next to her, Bates had gone into a cold stony silence which clearly reflected his anger on the subject. He disliked anything that disrupted the daily flow of Downton Abbey, but this went on a different level. Something deep within him had been touched by O’Brien’s malice. Perhaps he was remembering his youth in 1918. Perhaps he simply felt differently for Thomas now, and didn’t like to see him be attacked so openly.</p><p>With a slight quiver to his neck, Thomas slowly turned to look at Richard.</p><p>He was staring at Thomas, his wide brown eyes full of despair.</p><p><em>Say it’s a lie, </em>he seemed to beg. <em>Say anything at all. </em></p><p>But Thomas could no more deny the damning truth than he could deny the scars upon his wrist. He’d never wanted Richard to be privy to the cold hard facts of his solitude; so long as they’d been kept separate, Thomas had been able to delude himself into imagining the golden dream of their frolicking was the world he actually inhabited.</p><p>It all came crashing down around his ears as Richard jerked out of his seat. He did not bother to push the chair back to the table, kicking it aside so that it nearly fell into the wall as he stormed away. He brushed past Thomas, his shoulder clipped his own hard. Thomas winced, unable to hide from the sting of flesh on flesh. Either it had been deliberate, and for which his heart was shattered, or it had been an accident and Richard was just too incensed to think properly and apologize.</p><p>He stormed up the stairs and vanished immediately from sight. Not a second later, Thomas heard the door to the main floor open and slam shut. It left the servant’s hall in an awkward silence.</p><p>“…. Why didn’t you tell him?” O’Brien drawled. “Where you scared of what he’d say?”</p><p>Before Thomas could summon up an answer, Anna gave her one that she probably deserved: “You utter witch.”</p><p>At the piano, Rose the housemaid was clutching timidly at her starched iron apron. “Is it true, Mr. Barrow?” She whispered, too meek to speak loudly.</p><p>“It’s not up for discussion,” Baxter shot down. Rose didn’t deserve her murderous tone.</p><p>But some could not be put asunder. In the door to the servant’s hall, Daisy finally broke her ugly silence: “… Thomas?” He looked at her, and found her disgusted (though perhaps not at him), “Did you do that?”</p><p> </p><p>He did not answer, but it was answer enough. Daisy’s expression crumpled from disgust into sympathy. It was as damning to him as arsenic. He hated being pitied, more than he hated being loathed. In another day and time, he might have found it in him to shout at her and tell them all to get back to work, but he was so very tired and he could not summon up the appropriate response to give them all. They each deserved something different to be said. Thomas wanted to tell Daisy to stop looking at him like a charity case. He wanted to tell Albert that everything was fine, and it was all a lie. He wanted to tell Rose and the other housemaids that O’Brien was a fool and she was speaking nonsense. He wanted to apologize to Moseley, for not telling him himself.</p><p>Instead, he said none of these things and sat at the head of the table a wilted shadow of his former self. As if to mock him, the shadows of a young Thomas leered at him from a seat over.</p><p><em>“Pathetic,” </em>the boy seemed to say.</p><p>At the far end of the table, anger had turned to silence. Perhaps O’Brien knew she’d gone a step too far, but instead of being regretful she instead was more cemented in her choice. When she spoke, it was directly to Thomas in a language that only the pair of them could understand.</p><p>“Don’t be so glum,” she warned him. “You went low, so did I. Maybe I wouldn’t have bothered if you’d let me be, but you had to get in my way and rough me up…” She stubbed out her cigarette with a hiss, eyes flashing as they locked upon his own. “You know, I’m rather disappointed in you. We used to have so much in common. What happened to the strong Thomas I knew so many years ago? He’d eat this…” She gestured at him with a flick of the wrist, “Weak willed man alive.”</p><p>And she went lower, opening his core up like one would pry apart the halves of a ripened pomegranate. “You pretend to be so nice now, to care about them…” She nodded her head to the others. “But the only thing you care about is not dying in that bathtub. Not being alone. And it must eat you every night when they all go home to their soul mates… in their little cottages… to nurse their babies. It must truly grind you to dust.”</p><p>She shook her head, “How awful. To know you’ll never live a life like them. You’ll never live a life at all.”</p><p>He closed his eyes, the silence from his co-workers making him feel like he was alone in the room with O’Brien. They’d been so quick to jump to anger at first but… now they just seemed so stiff. As if the truth had weighed upon their chests and crushed the words out of their mouths. Their good intentions dripped down their chin like the juice of a squashed grape.</p><p>They knew, in that moment, what he lacked. What he so desperately yearned for. And each of them seemed to be reflecting on their own positions. On the things they had, and treasured. On the things he did not have.</p><p>“Nothing to say?” O’Brien asked.</p><p>Soundly beaten, Thomas had nothing more to give. He rose slowly from his chair, his bones aching as if from a vicious cold, and walked away down the hall to his office. With each step he took, his shoes echoed unnervingly upon the walls. He could feel a million eyes upon him, judging his every move. Perhaps they were remembering his malice, his jealousy.</p><p>He shut the door to his office, alone at last with the misery that he knew best. The sorrow that followed him like a shadow both night and day. His shoulder stung from Richard’s touch, and it was the barest reminder that he was still alive. That he inhabited the mortal coil and had been denied his own chance to escape from it.</p><p>For the first time since July of last year, Thomas undid his cufflinks and rolled up his sleeves to view the leather cuffs upon his wrists. They were held in placed by metal clasps, easily undone with the pinch of a finger. When they came away, they revealed the damage of his prior disputes.</p><p>The door to the next world, which had been locked on him with forty stitches.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Yes, we had a little bit of a job problem, and couldn’t the way forward anymore. So what does he do? He goes upstairs, takes his straight razor, locks the bathroom door, and cuts his wrists in the tub to drown in his own blood-“ </em>
</p><p>Her voice bounced around his skull like a croquet ball through hoops, his blood pumping in his veins as he mounted the stairs at a rapid pace. It could not be true, he simply refused to concede it!</p><p>But even as Richard ran for the library, praying the family would be inside, he could not help but think time and time again of those leather cuffs that Thomas so often kept wrapped around his wrists. Now that he thought of it, he’d never seen Thomas without them on… and now he knew why.</p><p><em>It can’t be true, </em>a hysterical voice babbled in his brain. <em>It can’t be! </em></p><p>Much like a child, he ran to a parent for vindication and protection. As he’d fled to his mother to escape neighborhood bullies so too did he now run to Lord Grantham hoping that he would find shelter.</p><p>As he burst into the library to find the entire family partaking in an after dinner coffee around the fireplace. Branson jumped, nearly dropping his whiskey at Richard’s sudden intrustion. Lady Mary whipped around, surprised at the sudden noise of the door banging against the wall.</p><p>“Ellis?” Lord Grantham was dismayed at his sudden intrusion, sensing that something was askew.</p><p>“Forgive me, M’lord-“ He was panting, and had to take a sudden breath to regain himself lest he look improper. “But something has happened and I need to speak with you and Lady Grantham immediately.”</p><p>“Is something wrong?” he asked at once, setting his coffee down to give Richard his full attention.</p><p>“Yes,” and he put every last ounce of loathing that he could into his voice. “Yes, something is terribly wrong.”</p><p> </p><p>Able to command his family, Lord Grantham silently beckoned for Lady Mary, Branson, and Mr. Talbot to exit. They did so, one after the other, thoroughly confused as to what must have happened downstairs to cause such distress.</p><p>And like a faucet, Richard opened his mouth to let the waters flow, unable to fully control himself as he told Lord and Lady Grantham everything. The sight of Lady Grantham’s face going from confusion to horror put a nasty taste in his mouth; he knew that she was close to O’Brien. But Lord Grantham was enraged, and by the end of Richard’s story he was pacing the library floor, his coffee long forgotten and going cold.</p><p>Spent and shaking, Richard stood before the pair of them waiting their decision. Unfortunately, he’d have to wait for Lord Grantham to get finished with his temper tantrum first.</p><p>“Why am I not surprised?!” Lord Grantham paced back and forth, furious at the uproar. “I knew from the very start that she would cause trouble and look at what she’s done! The whole staff is in an uproar! Why on earth would you tell her such a thing, Cora?”</p><p>He rounded on his wife, his aged jaw set in a clench. “Why would you give her that kind of ammunition to harm our staff, when they serve us so well?”</p><p>“I told her in confidence,” Lady Grantham’s voice was thick, like she was suffering from a severe head cold. She seemed on the verge of tears, disgusted and dismayed to learn that her trust had been broken. “I told her not to tell anyone. I made her swear.”</p><p>“Well she’s broken her word,” Lord Grantham was far from sympathetic, “And I can’t believe you ever thought she’d keep in the first place.”</p><p>Lady Grantham put her head in her hands, her fingertips trembling. Richard did not know if it was from grief, or rage; perhaps it was both.</p><p>“M’lady, please listen to me,” Richard implored her, speaking out of turn but desperate to get his point across. “Even if she did not have it blindingly out for her butler, which she does, speaking out like that at the servant’s hall, in front of unmarried maids and a hall boy who isn’t even thirteen? It’s unfathomable to people like us.” He swallowed around a knot in his throat, his own emotion leaking through. “Now everyone in that room knows… how can Barrow be asked to hold court with the staff if they know the intimate details of his personal life? It was a savage attack on his character.”</p><p>“I quite agree,” Lord Grantham was venomous.</p><p>“I… I didn’t want to believe her,” Richard closed his eyes, desperately trying to block out the look on Thomas’ beautiful face when he’d stared at him only moments ago.</p><p><em>I’m so sorry, </em>he’d seemed to be saying.</p><p>“… I don’t want to believe that Barrow would do that,” Richard murmured. “Not when he’s so good-“</p><p>“Well,” Lord Grantham muttered, hands shucked into pockets. Clearly, he didn’t agree on that point. But Richard was so riled up from O’Brien that any slight in Thomas’ direction made him bristle no matter how well intended the point was.</p><p>“I know you don’t like him, M’lord,” Richard snapped. Perhaps he could have taken the tension down a bit in his voice; Lord Grantham was surprised as his tone. Richard had to school himself, cursing his slip of the tongue.</p><p>“… I know, I know.” Richard let the heat go out, trying for understanding and common ground instead. “But please understand, M’lord, some men are different. Some men work better with others. Mr. Barrow works better with me. We have an understanding and… and to know that…”</p><p>In his mind, he kept seeing the bathroom on the men’s side. He’d bathed in it, sitting in that tub whistling away while he scrubbed his skin. And he knew with gut wrenching accuracy that for the rest of his life (or certainly the rest of his career at Downton) he would never be able to bathe in that tub again without thinking of Thomas. Without thinking of red water, bleeding the life dry.</p><p>“It’s got to stop,” Richard begged. “I’ve only been here as long as she has, I’ve never known the staff without her presence, but even I can see that she’s done heavy damage today and people are rattled from it. This has got to stop, and you are the only one who can do it, M’lady,” he turned his attention to Lady Grantham who was still shaken up from these newfound revelations. While Lord Grantham saw it all as transactional, so cut and dry, something told Richard that Lady Grantham’s relationship with O’Brien was more difficult and multi leveled than a benign husband could see.</p><p>He’d met women in his life before that looked to the same team. He knew that gutted reaction, that crumpling composure which seemed to whisper: <em>I trusted her, when I couldn’t even trust my husband. </em></p><p>“Please, Lady Grantham,” Richard murmured, trying for compassion. “I know this has heavily upset you, and I can understand why… but you’ve got to do something. She’s out of control.”</p><p>It seemed she agreed.</p><p>Lady Grantham took a deep shuddering breath and stood up with her hands clasped. She fixed them both with a steady look, which served as a veneer to hide her misery beneath. It was a look all women could replicate.</p><p>“I will speak with her.” Lady Grantham agreed.</p><p>Yet as she walked to the library door, with Richard on her tail, she was called to a halt by her husband who was once again back to drinking tea and thinking order had been restored. His words were ominous: “Cora…”</p><p>She looked, nervous.</p><p>“Take care of this or I will,” Was Lord Grantham’s final warning. “I’ve had enough. Barrow may not be as dear to us as Carson, but I will not have my butler undermined in front of my staff. My father would have thrown your maid out long ago, and I’m starting to see it’s the only way to get some peace. I’m the master of this domain, not you. So I expect you to help me keep the peace.”</p><p>“I understand,” But Lady Grantham did not meet his eyes, and Richard’s feelings of emotional support where O’Brien was concerned were only doubling up by the minute.</p><p>It seemed that she was serving as some kind of comfort blanket to Lady Grantham in a difficult marriage.</p><p>“Ellis, come,” Lady Grantham ordered. He followed her out of the library.</p><p>The pair of them walked side by side through the green baize door. He opened it for her and lead her down the stairs back to the servant’s hall where Thomas had vanished. The others were still shell-shocked, whispering to themselves in corners and looking sick to their stomachs. Albert in particular was frightened, and Mrs. Patmore and Daisy were having to console him from the kitchen.</p><p>Like some foul vulture perched in her chair, O’Brien had not moved and was continuing to sip her tea with a callous smile. At the table, Anna and Bates were whispering to one another, with Bates looking irate at his wife. It seemed that one of the party had known more than the other.</p><p>“O’Brien,” Lady Grantham’s voice was hard and cold, and it resulted in an instant chaos.</p><p>At once, everyone jerked out of their seats, whispers dying down into an unnerving quiet. At the sight of Lady Grantham, O’Brien bristled. Perhaps she’d guessed that the jig was up, and Richard had gone squealing on her.</p><p>He didn’t care.</p><p>“M’lady, is something the matter?” O’Brien asked.</p><p>“I need to speak with you in Mrs. Hughes’ office, immediately,” She snapped. Her eyes were blazing with an unbidden fire. Where had this anger come from? Was it really for O’Brien and Thomas, or was it something else? Was this just a view of her anger and helplessness at being trapped in a marriage where she so often had to play second fiddle?</p><p>“Anna, where are Mr. Barrow and Mrs. Hughes?” Lady Grantham turned her attentions to her favorite maid; Anna answered in a soft and demure voice.</p><p>“Mr. Barrow went to his office, M’lady, and Mrs. Hughes is out in the garden, I think,” Anna said.</p><p>“I’ll get him,” Richard assured Lady Grantham.</p><p>“Bring him to Mrs. Hughes’ quarters,” Lady Grantham said. “And Anna, go get Mrs. Hughes, and tell her to come to her office at once. Thank you.”</p><p>“Yes, M’lady,” Anna scooted around the table, her pregnant stomach causing her to waddle a bit as she hurried down the area hall. This left O’Brien slightly rattled.</p><p>“O’Brien, come,” Lady Grantham’s tone left no room for argument.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When Richard came to his door, Thomas initially thought that he would be made to endure a long and painful conversation regarding O’Brien’s dastardly reveal. Instead, Richard had merely stood in the doorway and said ‘Come with me’.</p><p>So he’d gone, unsure of what to find, and had walked with Richard to Mrs. Hughes’ office of all places.</p><p>When he’d entered to find Lady Grantham looking ready to skin a cat and O’Brien sweating under scrutiny, he’d not known whether to turn right back around and leave or wait and see what might happen. He was rattled, his nerves shot to hell after the evening’s events. Mrs. Hughes, was the unsuspecting party amid all of this, baffled by why it was that Lady Grantham was now downstairs and O’Brien was looking so nervous.</p><p>When Richard shut the door so that the five of them could have privacy, Lady Grantham wasted no time. Without hesitation, she dove forward into interrogation, so that Thomas slowly crept around the outer wall of Mrs. Hughes’ room to be unnoticed. O’Brien was captivated, amazed that Richard would go so far as to get her employer.</p><p>Perhaps she’d imagined that her threat of police presence would hold Richard in line. It seemed that she’d been wrong.</p><p>“O’Brien, Mr. Ellis has told Lord Grantham and myself that today, in an act of defiance and cruelty, you publicly announced that Mr. Barrow had attempted suicide last year, in front of everyone in the servant’s hall. Do you deny it?” With each word she spoke, Lady Grantham became more and more incensed. Her Victorian raisings had warned her to be chaste and gentle, and now faced with the idea that a woman would not be either she didn’t seem to know what to think.</p><p>Mrs. Hughes, in the dark for all of it, went white. She gasped aloud, looking from Lady Grantham to O’Brien.</p><p>“You did <em>what?” </em>she demanded in an outrage. “You brainless creature!”</p><p>“Do you deny it?!” Lady Grantham cut over Mrs. Hughes, taking back control of the conversation.</p><p>O’Brien did not look ruffled, so much as displeased that her dear Lady Grantham had been drug into things. She licked her teeth behind her lips, softening a bit.</p><p>“No, I don’t, M’lady,” she said.</p><p>“Why would you do something that shocking and heartless?!” The emotion in her voice was astounding. Who was this for? Certainly not he! “When I told you in confidence and demanded that you keep it a secret! Both for his sake and yours, you promised me you would say nothing. You lied to me! You took my confidence and you shattered it just to get a leg up on him!”</p><p>Ah, there it was, it had nothing to do with his person and everything to do with her trust being betrayed.</p><p>O’Brien grimaced, trying to recover her position as best she could. “M’lady, you told me something serious, and it needs to be handled. He’s not fit to be the butler, if he’s suicidal. Mr. Carson-“</p><p>“It is not your place to question his status in this house!” Lady Grantham barked. Her tone was shocking, and rough. “You are a lady’s maid, if even that! You are not a member of this family, or even the housekeeper! Lord Grantham is furious, and he wants you gone from this house immediately. I am starting to see that my bringing you here was a terrible decision and one that needs to be rectified before more damage can be done! If you take my trust and abuse it, when I am the lady of this house and your employer, what else are you willing to do to those that you feel are beneath you!?”</p><p>It seemed that now, O’Brien was starting to truly sense the depth of the danger in which she’d placed herself. Her little façade of regret was morphing quickly into panic as she tried to control the damage. But Lady Grantham was just getting angrier, and when rich women got it in their head they were right, they’d do ungodly amounts of damage.</p><p>“My lady, I didn’t mean to-“</p><p>“I’m not going to sit here and waste my time debating what you did or did not mean to do!” Lady Grantham snapped. “You should have never spoken about something so sensitive and vulgar in front of the maids, or the hall boy! You’ve probably traumatized a child for life! And the fact that you would do something like this, after all the expenses the staff have allowed for you here-“</p><p>“They haven’t allowed me anything, M’lady!” Now O’Brien was getting angry. “They’ve treated me very poorly, as I’ve told you! Barrow is rattled, and unhinged, he’s liable to assault me-“</p><p>“Oh you’re full of shit,” Thomas cursed, scoffing as he looked away.</p><p>“Mr. Barrow, please remember yourself in front of Lady Grantham,” Mrs. Hughes whispered.</p><p>“I’m starting to gather why they’ve been harsh to you, if this is how treat them back!” Lady Grantham declared. It was like she’d slapped O’Brien in the face. They stared at one another, both rattled by the actions the other had taken. It was like watching a messy breakup. “If you are to remain an employee of this estate, you will apologize to Barrow right now, and never make trouble beneath the stairs again. Am I clear?”</p><p>But apologizing to Thomas, in front of Lady Grantham, Richard, and Mrs. Hughes, was too low a blow. O’Brien was a proud and dominating creature. She wasn’t going to give in just because Lady Grantham asked her to.</p><p>“I will not apologize for defending myself, M’lady,” O’Brien refused.</p><p>“How was revealing Thomas’ suicide attempt anything close to defending yourself?” She challenged. “Tell me how it was anything besides an attempt to belittle him in front the of the staff, to cause him misery? I told you…” But her voice broke, and she could not go on. She took several shuddering breaths, tears in her eyes. “I begged you… and you promised and lied to me.”</p><p>Warbling, she tried again for order and control. “Apologize, now.”</p><p>O’Brien’s dark eyes slowly slid to Thomas. The room was small, and in that moment, it felt even smaller still with a terrible heat creeping up their necks.</p><p>“…No.” O’Brien growled.</p><p>Lady Grantham called her bluff: “Then you will leave this house tonight, and never return to it.”</p><p>But leaving the house would mean giving up her mission to Coyle, and that was not something O’Brien could afford to do. Knowing Coyle, he’d probably just kill her and find another agent, perhaps one that was nicer to everybody on the surface and stood a better chance of getting Baxter killed.</p><p>“M’lady, I have nowhere to go,” O’Brien begged. “If I’m cast out, because of this lot, then I’ll die on the streets. That’s what they want!”</p><p>“Then apologize!” She shouted. Thomas had never heard Lady Grantham speak so loudly. It almost made him jump.</p><p>Behind her back, Thomas caught Mrs. Hughes’ eyes. She, like he, was shocked at the way that the conversation had turned. Richard, oblivious to the normal running of the family, was just waiting in the corner like a patient shark, ready to bite at the first scent of blood.</p><p>She still wouldn’t meet Thomas’ eyes.</p><p>O’Brien was mentally calculating something, and it unnerved him. “…I need a few days to find somewhere to go,” she finally said.</p><p>“You will leave tonight,” Lady Grantham cut over her, her tone cold.</p><p><em>Are we to be free of her? </em>Thomas wondered as O’Brien’s face turned dark like thunder.</p><p>But as O’Brien slowly turned to go, her hand upon the doorknob and her knuckles white, she paused with a newfound tension in her shoulders. She turned and looked to Richard, teeth clenched.</p><p>“As god as my witness,” She growled. “You and your little lavender will pay for this.”</p><p>The idea of Richard being harmed, was what finally pushed Thomas over the edge. He knew, in his heart, that O’Brien would stop at nothing to destroy him. That she would, inevitably, try to kill him.</p><p>“M’lady, there’s something I need to tell you about O’Brien,” Thomas blurted out.</p><p>“What?” Lady Grantham was taken aback. At the door, O’Brien went white.</p><p>“Back in 1918 when you were-“</p><p>“I’m sorry!”</p><p>She all but shouted it, and there was clear terror in her voice. Thomas had never heard O’Brien sound so scared, and it was evident that the idea of Thomas telling her secret was enough to put her back in line.</p><p>She’d called his bluff, and so he’d done the same in return. In that moment, the pair of them were even.</p><p>“… I’m sorry,” O’Brien repeated, her voice shaking. Lady Grantham didn’t know whether to believe her or not; behind her back, the others were glaring dully, less than receptive.</p><p>In that moment, Thomas was their unified voice: “No, you’re not,” he would not delude himself into thinking that she was. “But we both know that I know the whole truth. So please… I beg of you.” He gestured to the door. “Go to the police and tell them everything. But if you do, I’ll tell her. Everything.” And he put great stress on the word.</p><p>There was silence for a moment, as both of them contemplated their positions. Finally, O’Brien took a shuddering breath and said, “It won’t save you by that point.”</p><p>“I’m not looking to be saved,” He cut her off, scathing in his resentment. She bristled. “I’m looking to take care of a problem. Anna told me long ago, I ought to drag you for filth… but I was merciful because I’m trying to be better liked in this house.” He paused, considering his next words very carefully. “Now, I’m starting to see that was just me being weak again, as you so love to point out. How funny that my weakness has been what’s keeping you afloat. Perhaps I should give you a taste of the heartless Thomas you so enjoyed rubbing elbows with. Perhaps, I should bring him back one last time… and remind you of the monster that you made.”</p><p>His voice ended in a deadly whisper, which sent shudders down Mrs. Hughes’ spine. For the first time since 1920, she stared into the face of a man she did not recognize. The face of a man who could commit treason and sleep as comfortably at night as a baby.</p><p>“There he is…” O’Brien leered, softly. “There’s that little demon I knew and loved. I always liked bringing out the worst in you.”</p><p>The closing of such a remark seemed to make Lady Grantham ill. She bristled, a green tinge to her normally rosy cheeks. Withdrawing herself and growing cold, she finally spoke up again.</p><p>“O’Brien you have apologized, and so I gave my word that you may stay,” She said. “However, this is the end of my sympathy for you. The end of everything. Do you understand me? Everything.”</p><p>Something strange was happening to O’Brien. Lady Grantham’s words had sucked all the hatred from her face to have be replaced by a blank stare that haunted Thomas. He didn’t know what ‘everything’ meant… but it meant something. Something important. He felt like he was staring at a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces missing, trying to understand the subject matter.</p><p>Lady Grantham gave a wet sniff; there were tears in her eyes as she turned to Mrs. Hughes. “Mrs. Hughes, please have Baxter return to her work as Ladies Maid for me. O’Brien will work for Lady Mary until a replacement can be found. I no longer want O’Brien serving me personally in any capacity. Am I clear?”</p><p>“Yes, M’lady,” Mrs. Hughes said.</p><p>“You’re to put an ad out for a lady’s maid,” Lady Grantham continued on. “Tomorrow morning, first thing. And as soon as you’ve found a suitable applicant, O’Brien is to be let go with a character so that she may find work in another house. I will write it myself as I do not trust the subject matter to anyone else, even you. Is that clear?”</p><p>“Yes, M’lady,” she repeated. Thomas could hear a slight sting of irritation in her voice. Once again, this was an overreach in part on Lady Grantham, but one that would ultimately have to be allowed if they were ever to be rid of O’Brien.</p><p>“Good,” And so, Lady Grantham returned her attentions to her now disgraced former lady’s maid. “O’Brien, leave us. I wish to speak to Barrow alone, so that I may apologize myself for your actions.”</p><p>She opened her mouth, like she thought to say something, but Lady Grantham’s expression was like thunder and there would be no moving her beyond heaven and earth. She turned, and finally left, closing the door quietly behind her. She was oddly cowed in that moment.</p><p>Now it was just Lady Grantham alone in the room with three mistreated servants. Suddenly she was the one to apologize, and unlike her friend she was much more graceful in the attempt.</p><p>“…Barrow, I am so sorry,” she would not even meet his eyes. “I told her your secret in confidence. I asked her to be kinder to you. I didn’t want her to upset you.”</p><p>And while she wasn’t some champion for servant’s rights, and probably didn’t care about them outside their capacity as pack mules, Thomas could tell that she’d been rattled tonight. Seeing O’Brien get nasty in front of her had shattered the mirage that the woman was her friend.</p><p>“… It’s alright, M’lady,” Thomas murmured. “I understand. You didn’t mean any harm.”</p><p>She pursed her lips, her voice growing wet with emotion. “… I never liked you as much as I like Carson. I don’t appreciate how you treat others on the staff,” she admitted. “But I didn’t want this for any of you. And as god as my witness, it will never happen again. You have my word.” She gave a wet sniff, before finally retiring. “Mrs. Hughes, please send Baxter up with my supper tonight. I don’t think I can stomach social interaction.”</p><p>She left, the three of them echoing, “M’lady” as she went. With the door now closed for a second time, Thomas let out an exhausted breath. Mrs. Hughes was on the verge of a migraine, rubbing her brow.</p><p>“… I can’t believe she did that,” Mrs. Hughes whispered. “When did it happen?”</p><p>“Just now,” Richard admitted. “I went and got Lady Grantham straight away.”</p><p>“Thank you, Mr. Ellis,” Mrs. Hughes gave a breathy sigh, so very tired of the drama and display. “… I suppose there’s no hiding the truth from you now.”</p><p>He looked stung. Thomas glanced at him, but Richard refused to meet his eyes. He was stricken, emotional in his revelations. What was he thinking? It frightened Thomas to think that their relationship was in jeopardy.</p><p>“…Mrs. Hughes… I…” Richard ran a hand through his hair, “Will you please have Mr. Bates watch over Lord Grantham tonight. I need some time.”</p><p>“Of course,” She said. “Are you going to be alright?”</p><p>Richard just shrugged. “I’m not the one who got hurt,” he finally said. With that, he left the room, so that now it was only Thomas and Mrs. Hughes.</p><p>He sank into her visitor’s chair, weary on his feet. Fretful, she placed a timid hand on his shoulder in a small form of comfort.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he finally said. “That you had to see that.”</p><p>“See what?” she asked with tender affection.</p><p>“The old Thomas.” For whom in their right mind would want to come face to face with that monster?</p><p>But instead of chastising him for his sharp mouth and ugly temper, she instead patted him upon the back in a show of strength. “Oh Thomas…” She declared. “I’m glad he came back tonight. God only knows, we needed him.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Two hours passed, and Thomas did not see O’Brien again.</p><p>He was numb, shell-shocked by the sudden turn of events. The idea that she would be leaving soon had him ready to sing, even if everyone now knew he’d attempted suicide. He hid in his office, unwilling to finish up the nightly routines despite the fact that the doors needed locking and he ought to be making sure the silver had been adequately polished.</p><p>What really threw him and held and him down was the knowledge of his co-worker’s reactions. How they’d gasped and begged him to set the record straight. They hadn’t wanted to believe the truth; poor Albert in particular had looked ready to be sick. In a way it almost amazed him; he’d imagined these people wouldn’t have cared if he’d died. And maybe they wouldn’t have but the idea that he nearly had seemed to have rattled them. Maybe they, like others, had imagined Thomas was unshakable.</p><p>To be proven wrong had thusly rocked their entire structure of reality. If he was susceptible to pain and loss, what else was true? How much more in their world could be challenged if even he could fall?</p><p> </p><p>As the hour turned close to midnight, Thomas finally dared to poke his head out of his office and found the downstairs totally abandoned.</p><p>Finally able to move about and avoid questions, Thomas took his master set of keys and began to lock up for the night. Upstairs, he found the halls deathly quiet safe for the far off pitter of claws on wood as Tiaa lounged by the hearth in the hall. The front door had a slight crack in it where the two halves met, so that a thin trickle of dastardly cold wind crept through. He locked up, snuffing out lights as he went, checking each room for glasses that needed to be cleaned up or curtains that ought to be pulled. It was soothing and repetitive; it made him feel like things were slightly more normal.</p><p>As he returned downstairs, Thomas was hesitant to go through each room, nervous that he might run into someone. He found no one, which made him wonder what on earth had occurred in the time that he’d been hiding in his office. Normally at least one or two people were hiding by the fireplace even close to midnight. Was it because of O’Brien? Was it because of him?</p><p>Were they just as nervous of running into him as he was of them?</p><p>The final door to be locked was the door to the area yard. Checking his wrist watch, Thomas noted that it was just after midnight; the door was slightly ajar, as if someone had exited and not closed it hard enough to cause the latch to click. It was more difficult in the colder months to get the door to behave; the wood had been warped over the centuries.</p><p>Not wanting to lock someone outside in the freezing cold, Thomas opened the door to shine golden light onto a snowy area yard. Sure enough, sitting at the work bench where Thomas had so often mended clocks in his youth, was Richard. He had his back to the door, and was staring out into the dark as if he expected someone to walk up from the gloom.</p><p>They’d not spoken since O’Brien had been called out by Lady Grantham. It wasn’t right to ignore the truth, not now that they were both on the same page, but time was pressing and the temperature was dropping.</p><p>“… We’re about to lock up for the night,” Thomas called out. “Will you come in?”</p><p>Richard did not answer.</p><p>The snow had fallen thick and fast upon the ground, resulting in a heavy blanket of white. Thomas walked across the yard, his steps crunching in the ice as he joined Richard by the workbench. When they were side by side, Thomas could see that Richard’s expression was slack and soft, lost deep in thought.</p><p>“Holyrood house,” Richard said, which made no sense until he continued on. “It’s a royal residence. They stay sometimes, though not often… an’ we always hated it when they did.”</p><p>“Why?” Thomas asked.</p><p>“Agnes,” Richard explained, which was hardly an explanation at all until he added. “A maid that died back in 1800.”</p><p>He took a tiny breath, steadying himself. “She was raped by one of her masters, an’ of course she got pregnant. What could she do, her life was over? So she went to the top of the servant’s stairwell an’ threw herself off. Landed five stories below in the basement right on her neck. Broke it clean in half. At night, you can see her walking around, her neck broken.”</p><p> </p><p>Thomas had never been one to believe in ghosts, but he also knew Richard was not a liar. In this moment, he was opening up to Thomas, revealing a terrible part of his soul, and a past that they had not often touched upon.</p><p>“I’m seen her,” Richard whispered. “Everyone who serves at Holyrood has… Her room, it’s abandoned because no one dares sleep in it. None of the maids will touch it. Her misery soaks that place like wine on a cloth. It’s bloody horrible,” He shuddered at the distant memory. “It scared me, an’ I don’t scare easily. I don’t even believe in ghosts, y’know?” He tilted his head, deep in thought. “But I believe in Agnes. And now tonight, after what I’ve learned, I keep looking up at the attic windows thinking… what if you hadn’t been saved.”</p><p>It was a difficult question, but it deserved an answer. Unfortunately, Thomas could not give one. He did not like talking about this topic, because it put terrible thoughts in his head.</p><p>“what if when I came to Downton last fall, I’d have found you in the bathtub when I went in for a bath. What if… one night… I opened the bathroom door an’ saw the tub full of scarlet.”</p><p>Richard shuddered again; he looked like he might be ill at any moment.</p><p>“I can’t go up till I think it out, an’ if I get locked out for the night, so be it.” Richard said.</p><p>He let out a long sigh, a deep ache in his chest. If only this were easier; but it seemed that nothing could dampen the blow they were both feeling. It made him hate O’Brien all the more.</p><p>“There’s things you don’t know about me, Richard,” he hated to admit it. To remember all that had gone before, compared to all that he had now.</p><p>“There are years of my life strewn out before me like the battlefields of France. Massive potholes of land blown away by bad decisions that I won’t ever be able to get back. I’ve had to make peace with that.”</p><p>Richard shifted a little closer to him, “An’ have you?”</p><p>“No, not yet,” Thomas said. “But that’s okay.”</p><p>“How is it okay?”</p><p>“I’ve spent so many years looking at how horrible life was, I forgot how good it could be,” He explained. “that sadness, that awful darkness, is still inside me,” he touched his breast, as if to pluck the pain from within him and tear it out.</p><p>“Maybe one day it’ll end me. That’s the bargain I strike, the burden I carry,” he’d be a fool to deny it. “But in my mind, when I’m staring at that gaping black hole inside of my heart, judging it up, letting it judge me up… you’re standing beside me.”</p><p>“I am?” Of all the things in Richard’s life that had seemed unbelievable, it was perhaps this one admission which topped the rest. The idea that he had so greatly impacted Thomas he was now a part of his psyche. But it was more than that; Richard had become a lifeline for him to cling to during this terrible storm where Coyle and O’Brien ruled his anxiety with an iron fist. He had ascended into a lifeline status where Thomas could feel safe, and protected, despite the fact that he was most assuredly not.</p><p>If this night had shown him anything, he was as much a target as Baxter.</p><p>“You’re everything good in me, Richard,” Thomas said. “Because I look up to you and I wish I could be you. I admire you.”</p><p>This admission humbled Richard; his eyes sparkled with unshed tears as he turned abruptly in his seat and took Thomas in his arms. The air was frigid, practically numbing, but he didn’t mind it in that moment. All he could of was the compassion of Richard’s touch, and how he’d lived without it for so very long.</p><p>“You’re everything good in’ me,” Richard whispered in his ear, his voice throaty with suppressed emotion. “So please I beg of you, please don’t leave me?”</p><p>How funny that Richard repeated these words when they were practically the same ones that Thomas had spoken to Baxter earlier. It seemed that the sentiment of loving someone who was suicidal was shared no matter the subject.</p><p>“Don’t leave me when I love you,” Richard nuzzled his temple, his breath hot in Thomas’ ear. “I can’t lose you, Thomas. I just can’t.”</p><p>It was so strange; they’d not even been intimate yet (unless you counted their short rendezvous in the basement) and yet Thomas felt closer to Richard than any of his former lovers. The last time that Thomas had felt a closeness to another man on this level, it had been with Jimmy Kent. But Jimmy had never cared for him, not in the way that Thomas had so yearned for, and there had always been a strange tinge to their interactions where he knew that Jimmy was waiting for Thomas to make a mistake.</p><p>But he’d never made one again. He’d never allowed himself the luxury of one.</p><p>“Oh Richard…” he squeezed tightly at the arm Richard had wrapped around his waist. “Why can’t we have more time? More freedom?”</p><p>It was a question that he’d asked time and time again, only to come up with nothing. Even now after nearly forty years of enduring life’s struggles, Thomas couldn’t fathom why a few had everything and the majority were left to scrounge with nothing. He thought of Phillip Prevette, his old flame, and how despite being a Duke he’d often felt slighted by the world.</p><p>But as a member of the upper class, Phillip had never known what it truly was to work to the bone. To be so tired and yet unable to sleep, knowing that you only had a few more moments until sunrise when you’d have to get up and do the whole damn thing over again. No release, no escape… just the endless toil of a life without explanation.</p><p>And the only thing that made it even slightly better was the warmth of a body next to you, on a tiny miserable bed that wasn’t even your own.</p><p> </p><p>“I dunno,” Richard said. Clearly he’d had the same struggles too. “But I love you just the same.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>About thirty minutes later, they finally went to bed. Hand in hand, they left the area yard to slip back into a dark and gloomy house; their only refuge in the world. So wrapped up in their own problems, they did not notice a shadow slipping slightly away in the opposite direction, heading out into the frozen English wilderness.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The frozen wilderness suited her well. Inside of her, an emptiness rang out hollow and deep, and it mimicked the biting cold of the snow touching her ankles.</p><p>It had all been so simple, so easy. She hadn’t even been thinking when she’d done it. It had been as natural as breathing.</p><p>The plan had been to rattle Thomas, to remind him that she was in control, and to get him to back off so that she had room to get rid of that stupid Baxter woman. All she’d needed was a little bit of room… and instead of getting an inch she’d gotten a mile.</p><p>Sitting in her room after hearing Cora tell her it was over had been like some terrible punishment straight out of hell.</p><p>So it only seemed natural after spending a few hours in hell that she meet with the Devil himself.</p><p> </p><p>Their rendezvous was a dilapidated barn on the north western edge of the Grantham estate. It had, at one point in time, been used by one of the many farmers in the area as an extra storage site for grain. Now, it was nothing more than yet another broken down building; a carcass of a once thriving animal consumed by the Crawley greed.</p><p>If only they knew that Coyle was so close; it might make them think twice about walking around at night.</p><p>“Anything?” Coyle asked. Like a menacing shadow, he loomed out of the dark with burning blue eyes.</p><p>God only knows how long he’d been standing there, watching her smoke in the broken-down hayloft. With utmost care, Sarah flicked the ash of her cigarette to avoid it falling onto his boot. She could not risk even a slight negligence in front of him; in her pocket, a straight razor stolen from the hallboy Albert served as her protection. She’d killed a few people in her life, to be fair, but none made her more nervous than Coyle did even at a distance.</p><p>They weren’t friends, they weren’t even allies. She wouldn’t fool herself into thinking otherwise just to sate her already frayed nerves.</p><p>
  <em>“This is the end of my sympathy for you. The end of everything. Do you understand me? Everything.”</em>
</p><p>Sarah shuddered.</p><p>“I need your help getting rid of a problem,” she muttered. She looked out over the land; far in the distance Downton Abbey stood as a black outline against a murky snowing sky.</p><p>“I thought you could handle problems.”</p><p>“Not this one.” She’d been a fool to think otherwise at first. Thomas had too many allies in the house, too many people willing to put themselves on the line to support him; she’d had him good today but Ellis had cut her short and essentially destroyed her greatest lifeline. “If you want Petal, you have to remove this barrier for me.”</p><p>“You’re shaking.”</p><p>It was a fact, but one that Sarah did not deign to recognize in front of Coyle.</p><p>“Spare me,” She drawled, taking another drag of her cigarette. “I know human emotion doesn’t concern you.”</p><p>“No, it doesn’t. But it does fascinate me.”</p><p>That line disturbed her more than she wanted to let on. She had anger inside of her, she’d be a fool to deny it, but she was by no means on the same level as Peter Coyle. Something was atrociously wrong with the man mentally. He needed to be locked up in an asylum.</p><p>“I need you to kill someone,” She wanted this meeting over with, “And quickly.”</p><p>“Who.”</p><p>Just like that… no questions. No concerns.</p><p>Sarah pursed her lips, and for just the slightest moment considered thinking of consequences on this conversation. Yet even as her humanity tugged at her heart strings, begging her not to open her mouth, she once again saw the pain in her beloved’s eyes.</p><p>The end of everything, she had said… Everything good and decent. Everything holding her to a standard to be a better person. To not give into her old vices.</p><p>“His name is Thomas Barrow,” she said.</p><p>“I know that name.” Coyle pondered, leaning against a rotting timber to stare out at the valley alongside her. She had to wonder if he took any pleasure at all in things like nature, or the allure of a cooling breeze on one’s skins. Where was the end of his humanity? Why had he turned so vile in his life? Had he been born lesser, or had he become this monster over time?</p><p><em>You’re a monster, </em>whispered a nasty voice in the back of her head. <em>Think of what you’re doing to Thomas. </em></p><p>“He was in the wagonette,” Sarah flicked her cigarette again; it was getting close to the bud.</p><p>“Ah yes, he told me to kiss his ass.”</p><p>And in a different universe, it might have been funny.</p><p>“He knows too much,” Her voice shook as she spoke. “He’s gotten too close-“</p><p>“You do it,” Coyle complained.</p><p>“I can’t.”</p><p>“Why not.”</p><p>“Too many eyes.”</p><p>But this wasn’t even close to the truth. If she really wanted to, she could get rid of Thomas herself. But god help her if the very last strings of her humanity were begging her not to. To take it all back and run as far away as possible. Not for the first time tonight, her mind wandered to places it shouldn’t. To sweltering nights in India where a pair of gentle brown eyes lulled her to sleep.</p><p>“Are you scared?” It wasn’t an insult, despite the fact that Sarah was certain Coyle meant it as one.</p><p>“Hardly.”</p><p>“Somethings’ compromising you, though.” And that, unfortunately she could not deny. When it came to Thomas, she’d always been heavily compromised. Ever since she’d discovered his deepest secret, she’d wanted nothing more than to take him under her wing and train him to be a better version of herself.</p><p>Unfortunately, her plan had gone horridly awry.</p><p>“I suppose you find this all amusing,” Sarah snapped. “But humor won’t get you closer to Petal, and you know it. Barrow’s in your way. Get rid of him and I’ll be able to deliver her as we planned.”</p><p>This seemed to sober her companion. For a moment the pair of them were silent, though Sarah was sweating and nervously fingering the straight razor in her pocket. Christ, any moment now she thought he might snap and attack her. How had Baxter delt with the man all these years? How had she been able to stomach him enough to bed him and get pregnant? Even five minutes alone had Sarah’s skin crawling.</p><p><em>She must be a lunatic too, </em>she thought bitterly.</p><p> </p><p>“He’s her protector,” and she could not help but wonder why, even now. Why was Thomas so damn protective of Baxter? “Her staunchest ally. Take him away, and she’ll crumple. Take him away, and she’s all yours.”</p><p>That, above the rest, piqued Coyle’s interest and held it long enough for him to consider. For a moment, Coyle simply shifted from foot to foot, head tilted in deep thought. Then, he seemed to come up to his own conclusions, and said, “I’ll organize something and be in touch.”</p><p>He turned and left, leaving Sarah alone in the hay loft just as he had found her.</p><p>Sarah shuddered, alone again.</p><p>Eyes closed to the frozen vastness of England, she could not help but recall the humid blanket of India. The magenta nights tinged with deep royal purple at the edges. The smell of the spices, and the sway of the trees in the gulf winds.</p><p> </p><p><em>“We cannot change what we are,” </em>Even now, so many years after her wretched death, the voice of Sarah’s lover chased her down her sinful path. <em>“But we can change what we will become. If you allow anger to consume you, you will be destroyed by it Sarah.” </em></p><p>And Ashima had been right, though at the time Sarah had not understood. Her anger had propelled her to speak out in a society where she hadn’t understood the language clear enough to know what was going on. Her anger had gotten her into even deeper waters when Ashima had tried to save her from the local authorities. And when the rest had been discovered… well…</p><p>The acrid smell of burning flesh sometimes came back to her in the middle of the night, or in other moments of stress such as now.</p><p>
  
</p><p>She rubbed her face, exhausted, and began the long trek back to Downton Abbey.</p><p>Sleep would not come easy for Sarah O’Brien that night.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. The Red Wedding</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Phyllis Baxter's wedding to Joseph Moseley marks as a day full of blessings and horror. Thomas comes face to face with a car he cannot lift.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I apologize for the delay in this chapter. This is once again one of those segments where a great deal of information was included, so I wanted to make sure it went over exactly as it needed to. I'm also having to scrounge up <b>six fucking thousand dollars</b> to get my things back from England. They're still in my ex-fiancé's house, just sitting there. I'm close to my goal, but I haven't reached it yet. I've got to come up with the money before December 21st, so it's a bit of a panic over here. Merry fucking Christmas to me. </p><p>warnings for this chapter include <b>homophobia typical of the period, acts of violence, gore, kidnapping, and assault</b></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Coming downstairs after the terrible events of the other day had Thomas feeling jittery with nerves. It was one thing to hide in his office when it was in the evening and all the chores were done. It was another thing to avoid the staff when he was the butler and the day had just begun. There would be the family to serve, the silver to polish, the shoes to shine, the tea breaks to have…. Thomas stood as good a chance of growing a second head as he did of hiding from the others today.</p><p>At least he knew that Richard was on his side.</p><p>Dreading the coming interactions, Thomas descended the stairs at close to six in the morning. The only sounds of life were the mutters of Mrs. Patmore in the kitchen speaking to someone; probably Gertie. Taking a moment to compose himself in the mirror at the bottom of the stairs, Thomas hesitantly entered the kitchen to find that it wasn’t Gertie at all. It was Mr. Carson.</p><p>He looked wretched in the morning light, speaking in rapid hushed tones and gesturing to his cook. Mrs. Patmore seemed to be in agreement, whatever they were talking about, but didn’t look too happy either. When they noticed him in the doorway, both of them seemed to take a moment of reproach.</p><p>It put a taste of acid in his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>“Mr. Barrow,” Mr. Carson looked slightly nervous, which boded nothing but ill where Thomas was concerned, “I would like to speak with you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Coffee first, please,” He muttered, filling up his cup from the communal kettle. It was still piping hot, fresh off the range so early in the morning. He looked over his shoulder and noted that of the three day maids he could see in the servant’s hall, none were willing to meet his eyes. The whole lot of them were equally sheepish.</p><p>It unnerved him.</p><p>As Thomas made to take his coffee cup into his office, he was confronted by Mrs. Patmore. Instead of saying ‘good morning’ or some other off the cuff remark like she’d so often do, she instead stared at him pitifully and placed a freshly baked biscuit on the rim of his saucer.</p><p>It was like she was apologizing to him. He hated it.</p><p>“Don’t you dare look at me like that,” Thomas put the biscuit back onto her own plate; he didn’t like to stuff his face so early anyways. But for all the way she took it, it was like he’d slapped her instead.</p><p>He brushed past her, already heartily embarrassed; Christ it was only six in the morning, how would the rest of the day inevitably pan out? Maybe he could pretend to take ill and get out of dodge before the rest of the staff turned up.</p><p>Entering his office, Thomas made a quick show of turning on the lights and checking the mail basket to see if anyone had dropped a letter to be posted. Nothing was there, so he stoked the low fire in his personal grate and headed to his seat where he plopped down unceremoniously. It was to this view which Mr. Carson was granted audience; he shut the door again, sealing them both in the privacy of his chambers.</p><p>He felt like he was in the ring with a lion.</p><p>But the normally sharp edge to which Mr. Carson took every conversation was oddly absent. He was nervous, shuffling from foot to foot as he held his bowler hats in his meaty hands.</p><p>“Mrs. Hughes has informed me that there was a-“ but before Mr. Carson could finish the sentence, he was interrupted by the door to Thomas’ office opening; Mrs. Hughes was on the threshold, called by a supernatural sixth sense to come to his aid.</p><p>Why did she look so nervous? Was it for Mr. Carson or for him?</p><p>“I was just telling him,” Mr. Carson explained to his wife.</p><p>“I wanted to be present,” She shut the door to give them privacy. “I hope you don’t mind but I don’t like you two going at it alone when you’re talking on sensitive subjects. It turns my stomach.”</p><p>“Not at all,” Carson was mildly surprised, judging by the expression on his face. “But I wouldn’t have been harsh.”</p><p>“I’m afraid you’ve both been irregularly harsh on each other, as of late,” She disagreed. Thomas didn’t make to rise to the bait, instead sipping on his scalding coffee. The rich, nutty aroma was quite pleasant on such a frigid morning, and the heat of the cup warmed the leather on his gnarled hand. During the winter months, it was always more difficult for Thomas to open and close his right hand. The coffee cup helped, so early in the day.</p><p>“Mrs. Hughes has informed me that there was an incident last night,” Mr. Carson said. Thomas did not meet his eyes, continuing on his coffee cup. “I understand Lady Grantham was informed by Mr. Ellis, and that she handled it appropriately. Where is the traitor now?”</p><p>“Upstairs in her room, and may she stay there until Christ returns for the revelation,” Mrs. Hughes said nastily.</p><p>“Have you put out an ad?” Mr. Carson asked her.</p><p>“I have it right here!” Mrs. Hughes showed him a copy, which he inspected for merit. “And the original went out this morning with the post.”</p><p>“Did anyone send a letter?” Thomas asked.</p><p>“No,” Mrs. Hughes said.</p><p>“Good, we have to watch her from now on,” Thomas sighed, rubbing his brow where a tension knot was slowly beginning to form. “I have a feeling O’Brien will try to bring in outside help if she can. If you see her posting a letter, take it out of the box and give it to me first.”</p><p>“I certainly will,” she agreed.</p><p>“Well, something must be done,” Mr. Carson was just as helpless as the rest of them. But it seemed that his outsider perspective granted him a boost of energy which had been sucked out from Thomas and Mrs. Hughes last night; the pair of them were too tired to continue fighting without help. Like a knight from a fairytale, Mr. Carson had arrived to put order to things.</p><p>For as annoying and vicious as the man could be, he was also incredibly perceptive at righting wrongs.</p><p>“We cannot have the staff up in arms,” Mr. Carson said. “This has rattled them and it will need to be addressed if we are to proceed.”</p><p>As butler, this task would normally fall to him. In the past, he’d be eager to snatch the delegation from Carson’s hands, desperate to remain in charge lest he be shoved aside again. Now, however, Thomas wanted nothing to do with the spotlight. He’d never felt less like a leader than in that moment. He wanted to be allowed to remain in the quiet. To recover as best as he was able without having to stay strong for other people. Being Baxter’s shield had mentally drained him to the point of snapping.</p><p> </p><p>“I need you to do it.”</p><p>Whatever Carson had been expecting Thomas to say, it most certainly wasn’t that. For a moment, he opened his mouth as if to rebuke Thomas and say something along the lines of “no, I’ll be the one doing it”. To realize that not only did Thomas agree, but that he’d specifically asked for help, seemed to be akin to Thomas proclaiming he’d married a woman and was expecting his first born child. Carson didn’t want to believe it; it was almost ludicrous.</p><p>“What?” He wondered, agog.</p><p>“Do it,” He confirmed. “Address them, be in charge. I’m going to….”</p><p>But he didn’t quite know what he wanted to do anymore. He ought to be rights be getting the day moving and eating his breakfast. Instead the thought of food was turning his stomach and he didn’t want to sit down at the table with anybody.</p><p>“Serve breakfast, He finished lamely. He got and left, leaving his coffee cup behind; he noted that as he past, Mr. Carson opened his mouth as if he hoped to say something in lieu of ‘sorry’ or ‘I understand’. Neither came easy to the man, particularly where Thomas was concerned. And even if they did, he didn’t want to hear it today.</p><p>He wanted to be left alone.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It was incredibly awkward, going upstairs and serving the family breakfast. In effect, he stood around waiting for three hours in the dining room because he didn’t want to go downstairs, and eventually conceded to re-organizing the silver pantry while Andy brought up the dishes of hot food. He didn’t meet Thomas’ eyes, and Thomas didn’t engage in conversation. By this point, the pair of them were well shot of the other; they all wanted a vacation on a distant island where the only inhabitants were sheep.</p><p>Breakfast with the family was a mundane affair, save for the fact that everyone had an opinion on the topic of Branson being infatuated with Lady Bagshaw’s maid.  It was a game of matchmaker, and how they could best smuggle the Bagshaw estate back into the Crawley fortune; it made him sick to his stomach to listen to it.</p><p>But he noted that half-way through breakfast, Lord Grantham stopped talking about family estates and started to stare at Thomas. There was something meaningful in his gaze, like he wanted to apologize or explain. Last night, Lady Grantham had sworn he was furious at O’Brien. That he knew everything.</p><p>Looking at the man now, the truth was obvious. He wanted her gone as much as Thomas, and he felt sorry for the whole lot of them to be stuck with her.</p><p>When he gave Thomas a tiny nod of the head, he returned it; it was a cautious move, and one that slipped right under the gaze of the others.</p><p> </p><p>After breakfast was served, Thomas returned downstairs with the silver in tow. It would have to be cleaned and re-polished before lunch; it was easier to help Andy instead of simply bark orders. There were too few members of staff now adays. As he came downstairs, arms laden with silver, he bumped into Mrs. Hughes who was overseeing the linens being washed. She spotted him, and then gestured for Albert the hall boy to take the silver instead.</p><p>He did so but had a looked on his face like a kicked puppy as he looked up at Thomas. If he’d had a moment to himself, Thomas might have berated the boy.</p><p>“Thomas, come with me,” Mrs. Hughes said. She walked down the hall towards the boot room and opened the door to reveal Bates showing Richard Lord Grantham’s particulars when it came to his riding boots. Richard was glum, his expression dark; when their eyes met, Richard held his gaze and did not let go.</p><p>He was drawn to last night, to the way that Richard had held him so lovingly. <em>Please don’t leave me, </em>he’d said. There, in his eyes, Thomas could see the words again.</p><p>
  <em>Please don’t leave me, not when I love you so. </em>
</p><p>He gave the man a tender smile which was quickly returned.</p><p>“Thomas…” Clearly it was Bates he wanted to see him.</p><p>“Mr. Barrow, please, Mr. Bates,” He wondered how many times he’d have to demand respect before the old codger finally bent over and gave it to him. Bates blinked, but let the comment roll off his back.</p><p>He stepped out into the hallway with Mrs. Hughes and Thomas and said in a charming voice that Thomas supposed was meant to be friendly, “I want to take a walk.”</p><p>It was the most absurd thing he’d ever said. What did Thomas care if he wanted to take a walk? “Knock yourself out,” He muttered.</p><p>Bates made a peculiar expression, like he’d have thought his intention was blindingly obvious and Thomas was the one being an idiot. “With you,” Bates said.</p><p>It was bloody freezing outside, with fresh snow on the ground. The wind could turn your fingers numb in half an hour, and somewhere out there in the howling wilderness was a mass murderer whom Thomas had personally offended on no less than two separate occasions now.</p><p>“W-now?” He demanded.</p><p>“Now,” Bates agreed.</p><p>“It’s freezing outside!” He complained.</p><p>“Get a coat.”</p><p>“There’s a murderer on the loose!”</p><p>“Get a gun.”</p><p>Oh well if it was all that simple-!</p><p>He scoffed, arms crossed over his chest, “What could <em>possibly </em>be so important that you need to go for a walk with me, at this instant, through the snow, while being pursued by a murderer?”</p><p>But his answer was not found in Bates. Instead, it came from the imploring look Mrs. Hughes gave him, and the way that Richard was waiting by the boot room table. They were all watching Thomas, all in on something…. And Bates was the catalyst. The bearer of the news.</p><p>But why wouldn’t Richard just say it himself. Thomas glanced at him; Richard tilted his head, eyebrows raising for a flash as if to say <em>‘Please go with him’. </em></p><p>He looked back at Mrs. Hughes, who was staring at Mr. Bates knowingly.</p><p>“Oh I see,” He complained. “Are you in on this too?”</p><p>“Yes. I am.” She said, with shame whatsoever. The cheek.</p><p>“For god’s sake,” He muttered darkly. He let out a deep sigh and considered everything on his calendar for the morning. It wasn’t too pressing, there weren’t any guests staying at the abbey and that helped. The only real hiccup was going to be that night when a new shipment of pantry goods arrived, and they’d have to unbox and re-load. Still, he supposed a walk wasn’t so horrendous if he got a gun first.</p><p>And a coat.</p><p>“Mrs. Hughes, Mr. Bates has decided that we are going on a walk, through this winter wonderland,” He drawled. “So I will need you to take charge until I am back. Is Mr. Carson still here?”</p><p>“He’s in your office,” Mrs. Hughes said.</p><p>“Of course he is,” Thomas muttered, he was probably sitting in his chair too. “Will you please tell him to hold ship until I return.”</p><p>“I most certainly will,” and she was off like a shot down the hall.</p><p>“… Right then,” he was now left in the company of a man that wasn’t strictly his friend but wasn’t his enemy either. He left towards the area door, pausing by a rack of hooks on the wall to pull on his coat. Bates did the same, having to juggle his cane against the flagstone wall. They both put on gloves and scarfs; at this point it was a bloody necessity.</p><p>Out the door they went, into the blinding sunlight and crunchy snow. You could see trails that had been made by Albert and Gertie, the pair of them scuttling about like harvest mice ferreting supplies indoors where it was warm.</p><p>They walked at a leisurely pace out of the area yard and to a framing building which was shaped like a ‘U’ by the garage where Branson and Talbot worked on cars. At one point in time, this area would have been where the horses were quartered for the Crawley stagecoach. Now, it had turned into an area for the family riding horses, and also for hunting parties that required dogs. They knocked and entered the groundskeeper’s office; Mr. Ridge was a gentle man with a thick white beard, the kind of person that looked like he’d be a loving father and a devoted husband. He certainly had a youthful charisma and beamed at their arrival.</p><p>“Mr. Barrow, Mr. Bates-!” He got up from behind his desk where he’d been carving what looked like the figurine of a duck… if the duck had been born with a birth defect. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”</p><p>“Mr. Bates and I need to run an errand,” Thomas said. “Given the state of things, we need a gun.”</p><p>“Right you are,” no questions were asked as Mr. Ridge pulled out his set of master keys and took off a painting of hunting dogs which hung on the wall behind his desk. It revealed a wall safe, and he unlocked it to show inside several Webley revolvers of various fashions. Thomas instantly recognized a make and model from his service during the great war. Mr. Ridge handed Thomas the pistol, which was loaded with six in the chamber.</p><p>“A box of spares too, please,” Thomas said. There was no way he was going out without due precaution.</p><p>“Righto,” Mr. Ridge handed it over, no questions asked. The bullets made a merry sound as he dropped them into his pocket.</p><p>“You think we’re going to need twenty bullets?” Bates wondered.</p><p>“I was on that wagonette, Mr. Bates,” He warned. “I saw what he can do. If I could, I’d take two hundred bullets.”</p><p>“Never underestimate a wounded animal, Mr. Bates,” Was Mr. Ridge’s firm advice. “There’s nothing so dangerous as a wolf gnawing its leg free of a trap.”</p><p>And it was with this sage appeal that they left Mr. Ridge to return outside. Now with their anxieties appeased, the two men began their trek in a meaningless arrow towards the general direction of the lake. They were silent as they walked, which made Thomas wonder what Bates had to say to him. Was this to do with O’Brien the other night, or something else? Had something occurred he didn’t know about, and Bates was about to reveal it to him?</p><p>They reached the edge of the lake, now frozen and slushy. You could clearly see the ice resealing where Thomas had plunged in after Baxter. There were strange marks in the frozen earth, a reminder of where he’d bodily drug her up onto the bank and performed mouth to mouth. Everything was blindingly white, with the reflection of the sun making a glare on the surface of the snow. For miles and miles, the land was draped in cotton, blanketing the earth in a frigid down that refused to give way. There was a tranquility to it, certainly, but with Coyle on the loose there was also a howling wilderness to it all. Thomas wondered how it was possible that a man so dangerous and bad tempered could be so easily hidden when the whole world had been stripped bare around them. It was like he was looking at a graveyard.</p><p>“Anna told me,” Bates explained, nodding to the churned bank.</p><p>“Mm,” So it seemed they were here to talk about Baxter.</p><p>“Poor girl,” Bates murmured.</p><p>He shrugged, stuffing his hands into his armpits to keep them warm. “We got there in time, that’s what matters… an’ the baby is safe.” He said.</p><p>“…Why.” Bates finally said. But this didn’t make any sense, he needed clarification.</p><p>“Why what.”</p><p>“Why did you do it?” Bates asked.</p><p>He scoffed, taken aback. Why did he go after Baxter? What a ridiculous thing to ask! “Are you out of your mind?” He demanded, rather hurt by the insinuation. “She’s more dear to me than anything else in the-“</p><p>“No…” Bates grumbled, cutting him off. “Not that.”</p><p>They stared at one another. Bates’ expression was not pitying (for which he was exceedingly grateful) but there was something sad about it.</p><p>“Why did you do it?” Bates asked.</p><p>Ah. That’s why he’d drug him out here. Baxter had just been an introduction, not the main course.</p><p> </p><p>Thomas exhaled, his breath appearing in a fine mist before him. In truth, he’d never wanted Bates to know the extent of his own self-loathing. He’d been there at the start of it all, though in truth the real beginning had been on the day of his sordid birth. Bates had watched him collapse from a man with purpose to this clammed up creature he was now. Maybe Bates thought it a good change, a change for the better, but Thomas knew different. He’d lost something over the years that he couldn’t regain back. That day, in that bathroom, he’d shed the final coil of his impenetrable armor, and ever since he’d been lain bare and disposed of like some dead fish on the banks of a river. There was no mystery to him anymore, no hint of glamor like in his youth.</p><p>“Why do you want to know?” He asked. There was no easy way to hold this conversation, but he and Bates had a peculiar relationship that allowed them to hold difficult questions with ease. It was like they’d become battle scarred to the sting of indifference or confusion. With another person, Thomas would have felt put off and irritated. With Bates, he’d learned the man’s ins and outs over the years to where he could navigate through a nasty moment with simplicity.</p><p>Neither of them might have enjoyed it, but they were comfortable with it. Indeed, they even took comfort from it.</p><p>“Was it me?” Bates asked.</p><p>“Why do you think it was you?”</p><p>“We’ve never gotten on.”</p><p>Now that was the understatement of the century. Thomas could not help but smile, bending over to pick up a frozen stone which he flung hard out onto the surface of the lake. It skipped along but never cracked the veneer, coming to rest in the middle of the ice. It would stay out there till the snows thawed.</p><p>“I don’t get on with anybody,” Thomas said. He heard Bates suppress a chuckle. “The whole lot of you are barmy and sentimental.”</p><p>Instead of turning the conversation towards something gentler, Bates pondered at that rock flung out into the lake and finally said. “Was it Mr. Carson.”</p><p>He bristled.</p><p>Yes, Thomas could say beyond a shadow of a doubt that Carson’s treatment of his had been so vile in those final pivotal months that he’d been a prime reason Thomas had decided it was time to die. His role, in Thomas’ mind, had shifted like some grotesque bug through stages of metamorphosis. From employer to father figure, the lines between them had become too heavily blurred to know when one was crossing the other. He’d become, without meaning to, a living reminder of everything that Thomas had lost when he’d been kicked out of his family home. There was a side of him that hadn’t seen the light of day since 1904. A side of him that, much like a fragile flower left out in the cold, had shriveled and ultimately fallen to the ground to be trampled underfoot into muck. That stain on his soul had remained like a bruise. Every time someone pressed on it, it hurt.</p><p> </p><p>Thomas’ lack of an answer became the answer that Bates needed. “Thomas, you need to talk to him,” he urged. “To tell him.”</p><p>“I don’t need to do anything,” Which sounded like a line a stroppy child would give before being put down to a nap. He grimaced, irritated at his own immaturity.</p><p>“If he knew, he would be mortified-“</p><p>“There’s nothing for him to know, and even if there was, it’s none of your business!”</p><p>He hadn’t meant to snap at Bates, but as the man had pressed on a bruise, Thomas had reacted like an animal in pain. It must seem so simple to the man: a problem was present, and the answer was clear. But to Thomas, the situation had become too complicated to untangle. To speak to Mr. Carson on such a level, to open his heart in such a way, was tantamount to throwing himself in front of a moving train. There was no way that he could ultimately survive the encounter, much less keep his dignity intact.</p><p>Bitter, Bates asked, “Why is it so difficult for you to believe that people care about you?”</p><p>But the fact of the matter was that no one cared for him besides Richard and Baxter. Not truly. Bates might image that he cared for Thomas (which was a stretch given their peculiar relationship), but he knew that if Bates were to ever be in a difficult situation and have to show his allegiance, he’d turn on Thomas.</p><p>They all would.</p><p>“If I were a younger man, now would be the moment that I’d let you have it and shout you hoarse,” Thomas muttered.</p><p>“But we’re friends now, aren’t we?”</p><p>That was a tough question to answer. “I don’t know what we are,” he said.</p><p>“Neither do I,” At least they could be honest with each other now. “But I’d like us to be friends.”</p><p>He looked at Bates and noted that the man was staring at him without a trace of pity or sympathy. It was comforting, to know that Bates did not consider him some decrepit creature to be treated with care. That had been a deep fear, from the very beginning. That eventually, he would be pitied by the whole lot of them.</p><p>“We can’t be friends if we don’t treat one another well,” Bates said, staring back out across the lake.</p><p>“Is that why you took me out here? To treat me well?”</p><p>“Yes. Last night… after it happened, Anna and I had a long talk about that day. I was angry I hadn’t been told. I wanted to be told. For as much as we’ve disliked each other in the past, I would never have wished such a thing to happen to you, Thomas. An’ I think you know that.”</p><p>He deflated like a popped tire and sank onto a ruined bench. The snow immediately began to melt underneath his backside, causing him mild discomfort. He stood back up, wiped the bench clean with a gloved hand, then sat back down for a second time. The bench was still horribly cold, but at least now he wouldn’t get wet.</p><p>Bates sat down next to him, groaning at the strain on his ruined knee. He placed his cane between them so that it rolled on the edge and came to rest delicately against Thomas’ thigh.</p><p>He plucked it up, noting that the handle was well worn from where Bates had been gripping it for years. It was surprisingly light.</p><p> </p><p>“…Was it me?” Bates asked again, this time a little more petulant than before. Almost needy. “Did I say something, do something?”</p><p>There had, admittedly, been a moment during Gwen’s luncheon when Bates had rubbed Thomas raw. He’d noted his jealousy, and aptly so… in a way it had been the beginning of his true spiral.</p><p>“Sometimes,” Thomas didn’t want to go into details. “That day with Gwen’s luncheon. But… not overwhelmingly. Not to the point where I could blame you.”</p><p>Bates grimaced, considering the options, “So it was Carson.”</p><p>He knew at this point it would be impossible to deny the man. He sighed, exhausted by the whole affair, “Yes,” He grumbled. “Yes, it was Carson. But it was also the fact that I am what I am, and the world will never understand or accept me.”</p><p>These were the bitter facts of their lives. Bates pursed his lips, silent for a moment as a soft wind blew across the surface of the frozen pond. A few flurries of snow, too light to melt, scattered high up into the wind only to drift and settle upon the shoreline. In the far distance a pair of ducks were irritably digging at weeds covered in snow, trying to find some meagre scrap to eat.</p><p>“For now,” Bates said. “But that will change, I think.”</p><p>“Not in our lifetime. Not even in Johnny’s lifetime.”</p><p>“But people here know about you, and no one minds,” Bates argued. He gestured with his hands between the pair of them. “Honestly, Thomas. No one minds. I mean…” He paused, reconsidering. “I don’t know if Mr. Ellis minds, but I can poke around and find out. I think he’s a decent sort. Lord Grantham seems to say so.”</p><p>Thomas snorted, smiling secretly. They were all so clueless, completely unaware of the truth dangling just inches in front of their noses.</p><p>“…Mr. Carson needs to know, Thomas,” Bates said.</p><p>For a moment, a soft silence fell between them. Thomas considered all that had happened between the day he’d tried to die and now. In truth, he had a feeling that Carson knew how much of a role he’d played in Thomas’ downfall. There was an accusatory edge in the way he did not meet Thomas’ eyes. In the way he was both soft and yet unendingly hard. Like he was afraid Thomas might break at any moment.</p><p>“… I think he already does,” he admitted, his voice unusually hushed. “I just don’t think he cares. He’s been growing angrier with me for no reason.”</p><p>“The times are changing, and he can’t keep up,” Bates agreed. “I think it frightens him. One day it’ll be us, panicking over newfangled machines and music that we don’t like. But it’s no excuse for him to be cross with you when you’ve done nothing wrong.”</p><p>“Well….” He turned away, staring back out across the icy fields to Downton which sat like a crumbling boulder upon the horizon. “We never got on… did we.”</p><p>“Would you have wanted to?”</p><p>It was too much, too soon. The truth was that Thomas would have liked to get on with Carson very much. There were so many questions that he wanted to ask him, so many things that had been on his mind over the years. Mr. Mason, in the moments before his death, had opened the door to a gaping wound in Thomas’ heart. He’d sworn right before dying that Carson loved him. That all fathers loved their sons. But Thomas’ father had despised him, so he knew implicitly that this advice was false. It only made sense that his shoddy luck had followed him to Downton and that Carson had grown to hate him just the same.</p><p>Sensing he would not get an answer, Bates said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that. I already know the answer.”</p><p>Silently, Thomas handed Bates’ can back to him. He took it, folding it under his arm.</p><p>“Well… I’m sorry for my part in it, truly.” Bates said. “And if you want me to, I’ll talk to Carson.”</p><p>“No,” he shook his head. It felt painful to meet the man’s eyes now.</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p> </p><p>Once again, he was annoyed because the answers were so obvious if only Thomas would reach out and take them. But what he did not consider was all the history between the pair of them, and the intimate knowledge the other shared for his sins. Talking to Carson would solve nothing. Carson already knew the truth… he just didn’t want to acknowledge it.</p><p>“There’s nothing to say that he doesn’t already know.” Thomas finally said.</p><p>He stood up, dusting snow off his bottom.</p><p>“I’m going back,” He pulled the pistol and the cartridges from his pocket, offering them to Bates. “Take these if you want to stay.”</p><p>Bates took them, looking slightly guilty as he pocketed them. There was no grand sendoff line to be used as Thomas walked away. Their relationship was so fluid by this point that this conversation would inevitably be picked up somewhere else. Bates was right, they were technically supposed to be friends by this point.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The trek back to the abbey was one that felt oddly colder despite the wind being to his back. Thomas’ head was full of black thoughts, all of them revolving around his father. So far away was the image of the man that he’d turned from a human into a blob in Thomas’ inner mind. He couldn’t even remember what he’d looked like, save that he’d had dark hair and sunken eyes.</p><p>Even that was at times too much to bear. The words bouncing around in his skull, the last words his father had ever said, were as hot as melted iron branded into his supple flesh.</p><p>In that moment he wanted to run to Richard. To hide in his arms.</p><p>So Thomas returned to the abbey with haste, only to find that he was being met halfway through the area yard by Mrs. Hughes. She had a decidedly content look on her face, like all the world had been put to rights.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, Mr. Carson has laid down the law again,” she declared, quite smug. “You should have seen them all shaking in their boots.”</p><p>“What did he say?” Thomas asked.</p><p>“Oh, he made sure they knew good and well it was a subject never to be discussed, and the fact that O’Brien had dared to mention it was a slight on her character, and not yours. Said that you were the butler, and even in modern times the butler was akin to God under the stairs.”</p><p>“Well that’s a first,” he sneered. “Not slighting my character? I wonder if it’s a fad that’ll catch on.”</p><p>“Oh don’t you start,” she warned. “He’s done you a good turn by being supportive, and you better thank him because it didn’t come naturally to him.”</p><p>“I’m well aware,” he drawled. He pulled out his pack of cigarettes and irritably lit one up to take a deep breath. He had to turn around so as not to blow the smoke right in Mrs. Hughes’ face.</p><p>“Where’s Mr. Bates?” Mrs. Hughes asked. “Did you drown him in the lake?” In lieu of Baxter’s near suicide, this wasn’t a funny joke to him.</p><p>“No but I left him with a gun,” Thomas said. “So he’ll be alright. Where’s O’Brien?”</p><p>“She’s skulking around the gallery floor trying to get Lady Grantham to speak to her,” Mrs. Hughes rolled her eyes at this ridiculous notion. “No doubt to try and wheedle her way back into her good graces. Really, Thomas, you’re the butler here. You need to pull yourself together. You can’t hide from your staff and maintain an air of control. I’d hoped Mr. Bates would help you with that. Did he?”</p><p>He could answer this question in many ways. He could be snide and rude, or short and to the point. Instead, Thomas said nothing and stared at her blankly until she could answer the question herself. Sensing he was not going to be a good sport, she relented.</p><p>“Well, if that’s the way you want to be,” her tone drifted up an octave in disapproval, “I won’t stop you. I’m not your mother.”</p><p>“And for that I thank God,” Thomas said. She scoffed.</p><p>“Before I forget, Mr. Moseley and Ms. Baxter wanted me to tell you to come speak with them. They’re in your office, and they have urgent news-“</p><p>Urgent in these times could mean an atrocity of human offenses or a mild setback. Nervous it was the former, her left Mrs. Hughes in the area yard, calling out over his shoulder: “Next time, lead with that!”</p><p>She looked ready to curse him for his petulance.</p><p>Inside the warmth and security of the hall, Thomas quickly shed his coat and took off his bowler hat. Both were dusted with snow, even from just a brisk walk through the yard. It would be a miracle if they made it to February without a single member of staff getting influenza. He headed to his office, and found the door ajar with Baxter and Moseley already inside. They looked nervous but not upset, which was a strange mixture of emotions.</p><p>“What’s happened?” He shut the door to give them privacy, heading around his desk to sit in his chair. “Is it Coyle? O’Brien? Who has waged war with us today?” He took another drag of his cigarette, pulling his ash tray forward to tap off a bit of burnt edge.</p><p>“Father Travis, actually,” Moseley said. Thomas let out an ugly bark of a laugh.</p><p>“Oh, just what I need!” He complained loudly. “What does that old wind bag want now?”</p><p>“It’s actually a good thing, Mr. Barrow,” Moseley said. “He’s got an opening for a wedding. There was a last-minute cancellation. Ms. Baxter and I want to take it.”</p><p>Well, that wasn’t near as bad as what he’d been expecting to hear. Opening his day planner, Thomas uncapped his ink pen. “When?”</p><p>“Two weeks, on the 11<sup>th</sup>,” Moseley explained.</p><p>“Two weeks?!” he cried out, agog. “Jesus man, do you know how much we have to do before then? We won’t have enough time to get the party ready! I’ve got to order flowers and prepare table arrangements. It’s not as simple as you’d think!”</p><p>“I know, I know,” Baxter cut in, at pains to sympathize. “but think about it Thomas… I’m pregnant. If we wait much longer, I’ll be showing. I can’t walk down the aisle with a belly, it’ll be a scandal.”</p><p>And the bitter truth of it was that she was right. Some women showed quite heavily, even in their second trimester. Some women got to the 9<sup>th</sup> month and just looked a little bloated. If Baxter was the former, they were in for quite a bit of trouble where Travis was concerned. He could block the wedding, or even call the police (though that was rare).</p><p>“Ah…” He groaned, re-capped his pen to rub his face with exhaustion. “I forgot about that. My little basement baby.”</p><p>“Wait, what-?” Baxter glanced to Moseley, eyes wide with knowing. Moseley turned bright scarlet, immediately looking anywhere else but at his wife-to-be. Clearly she’d been unaware that Thomas knew the location of their love tryst.</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>Two weeks later, Thomas, Baxter, and a whole slew of others were at Downton church to rehearse the wedding which would occur the following afternoon. Despite the fact that Thomas had been put on a code red alert for wedding preparations, he’d somehow pulled off a full scale gathering. It was, to date, his single greatest achievement. This included not being arrested in 1920.</p><p>Rings had been found at second hand sale, vows drafted up from copies of Daisy and Andy’s wedding. Flowers had been grabbed from stores all about West Yorkshire, and a wedding dress had supposedly been found in York. The budget for the wedding had been larger than he’d been expecting, thanks mostly to Moseley senior who was downright delirious to have his son married off at the ripe old age of fifty-three. Moseley, for his part, switched in a cycle from being delighted to being nauseous from stress. Twice, Thomas had walked in on Moseley breathing into a paper bag, desperately trying to get a handle on his nerves. If Anna had bought a sedative from the village chemist and put a tiny bit of it in his tea, no one had mentioned it to Moseley.</p><p>The wedding party had been gathered from family and workmates. Moseley’s best man was to be Bates, and Anna was to serve as Baxter’s lone bridesmaid. Thomas had initially thought that Moseley senior would be the one to walk Baxter up the aisle (it certainly would have made sense in his mind), but he was quite surprised to be approached one night by Baxter who had tearfully asked him to be the one to do the honors.</p><p>It seemed her family would not be coming to the wedding. They were still furious that she was pregnant out of wedlock.</p><p> </p><p>It was a balmy afternoon, the warmest one yet of the season, and as a result it hadn’t been necessary to walk with gloves or scarves. Coats were still required though, and probably would be for at least another month. The wedding rehearsal was a simple thing, just a matter of walking through the steps of getting Baxter up the aisle and married off to Moseley. There would be no pomp and circumstance as was so common with family weddings. They walked arm in arm, with Baxter holding a single Helleborus to serve as her impromptu bouquet. Under his breath, Thomas hummed Wagner’s bridal chorus to help Baxter keep the appropriate pace. At the head of the alter stood Father Travis, looking quite sour at the concept of having Thomas in his church. Next to him was Moseley, starry eyed and dreamy for his beautiful bride. It was like he’d been dropped into some vivid hallucination and never wanted to wake up.</p><p>Every so often, Baxter would walk just a tad bit too fast and Thomas would have to ever so carefully hold her back.</p><p>“Let’s have some time on the aisle,” He murmured, “Show it off… this is your moment to shine.” As they walked past Anna, perched at the end cap, she beamed.</p><p>“Look at Anna,” Thomas nodded his head to their workmate, “Hello, Anna, I am beautiful.”</p><p>Baxter grinned, pressing her forehead into Thomas’ shoulder with a bashful smile.</p><p>“You’re such a ham,” Anna teased.</p><p> </p><p>But Travis, at the altar, was less than pleased by Thomas’ carefree approach to marriage. “Perhaps you would like a shot at being the bride, Mr. Barrow?” He drawled loudly.</p><p>They’d reached the end of the aisle, now side by side with Moseley. Bates, serving as his best man, remained quiet in the shadows.</p><p>Richard, opposite Anna in the aisle, watched the whole display with his arms folded, irritated at Travis.</p><p>“I’m just trying to lighten to mood for her,” Thomas said, aiming for peace. His hopes were dashed on the rocks when Travis cut him off.</p><p>“This isn’t about you,” the man warned. It was amazing how so much malice could be packed into four words.</p><p>Baxter silently squeezed his arm in an issue of support. He glanced at her and found her smiling expectantly. He looked over his shoulder at Richard, who was still watching from the aisles.</p><p>He winked.</p><p>Relieved to be surrounded by friendly faces, Thomas turned back to face Travis with renewed vigor. It was an act that went unappreciated by the other man.</p><p>“If you’ll come to stand here, Ms. Baxter,” Travis gestured to a spot almost directly in front of him, urging Moseley to join as well, “And now Mr. Moseley can look at his beautiful bride.”</p><p>The pair of them joined hand in hand, deeply in love with one another. Thomas held onto Baxter’s flower, twirling it nervously between his slim smoke-stained fingers.</p><p>“At this point, you will give her away,” Travis drawled. It was clear what he thought on the subject. “I will say ‘Who gives this man to this woman’.”</p><p>“She gives herself with my blessing,” Thomas parroted the line Baxter had fed him. Travis scowled.</p><p>“How very untraditional,” he said. It was clear that in his book ‘untraditional’ was as deep an insult as ‘murderer’.</p><p>“Well, it’s meant from a good place,” if only Thomas hadn’t been in front of a group of work colleagues, he might have well and truly let the man have it. As it stood, Travis was unfortunately right. This moment was not about him, it was about Baxter, and nothing short of God’s intervention would cause the following 48-hours to go askew.</p><p>“I pray so,” Travis sneered. He returned his attentions to the happy couple, “Ms. Baxter you will now take Mr. Moseley’s hand… though you’ve already done it I see. Do wait until you’re given away, dear. We don’t want to give the congregation the wrong impression. A husband’s touch is sacred.” He glanced at Thomas with disdain. “You will sit down at the back of the church.”</p><p>“The back of the church?”</p><p>Travis was taken aback that such a comment would come from Baxter instead of Thomas himself. Thomas had been ready to take it on the chin, but it seemed that Baxter would rather lay down in front of a motorcar than allow any detail of her day to go awry from her vision.</p><p>“I’m afraid we’ve been having an issue with the seating,” Travis said, which was a downright lie because they barely had anyone coming at all outside of Moseley’s extended family.</p><p>“But can’t we save a space up front?” Baxter demanded.</p><p>“I’m afraid we cannot. As I said, it’s standing room only.”</p><p>“But-!”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Thomas murmured, cutting her off before she could grow angry. To diffuse the tension and allow the practice ceremony to continue, he silently headed out of the church. Behind him, he left a thoroughly grumpy bride and a sheepish groom.</p><p>Outside, the steps had been freshly brushed of snow to leave a dark brown path down the center way. He followed it, going all the way outside the church’s iron wrought gates so that he might smoke in peace. When he heard the door to the church open again, he glanced over his shoulder to find Richard following him.</p><p>It was just as well. If Travis knew the truth about them, he’d probably have a stroke.</p><p> </p><p>Joining Thomas at the gate, Richard pulled his own pack of cigarettes out and lit the end of his own against Thomas’. For a moment they simply smoked, the pair of them sniffing occasionally with runny noses.</p><p>“Prick,” Richard muttered. “Back of the church? He’ll be sorry.”</p><p>“Doubt it,” Thomas said with a smile.</p><p>He cast off a bit of ash into the snow, leaning back hesitantly so that Richard could lean forward. Though no one but a close passerby would notice it, they were touching intimately.</p><p>“So… two weeks from now…” Richard turned, his nose quite close to Thomas’ jawline. “I’ve requested the afternoon off. I’ve booked us a room at a very nice Roman inn. We’re going to go out, enjoy a nice meal at a restaurant with good company… and relax.”</p><p>The idea of having a night away with Richard was something out of a dream. Now Thomas knew why Moseley was grinning like a fool at the altar. But there was also something in the way he said ‘relax’. Something… coy. Flirtatious.</p><p>“Relax,” Thomas repeated, hoping for more. He got it in buckets.</p><p>“Oh yes,” And in his ear, Richard whispered, “I plan on relaxing all night with you.”</p><p>“Mr. Ellis,” He nudged him playfully with his shoulder. “You should be ashamed of yourself. I am a gentleman and I refuse to be treated in such a scandalous fashion.”</p><p>“You say that now,” he teased, “But I have a feeling when we get there, you’ll be singing a whole different tune.”</p><p>“I cannot imagine what you are eluding to,” Thomas said. At the same time, he simply couldn’t stop grinning.</p><p>“Oh, I should tell you… if this is going to work,” Richard folded his arms, leaning heavily against the iron gate so that they were back to chest. “I am a man of specific enjoyments when I am alone.”</p><p>Where before he’d been playing dumb, now Thomas was actually out of his depth. He didn’t understand what Richard meant when he said ‘specific enjoyments’. It was clearly a code word, but for what?</p><p>He glanced about with an eyebrow cocked. “…And?”</p><p>“Well, I want to know if you enjoy things too,” Richard added. Once again, the ‘things’ in question were far from clear.</p><p>“Um… well…” He tried to remain coy but it was growing difficult when he didn’t know what they were talking about. “The standards I hold are pretty minimal. You meet them all. You’re… not a murderer and… you have a penis.”</p><p>Richard snorted. “I know that, you numpty. But…. Do you enjoy something else? Something… specific?”</p><p>Once again, the word ‘specific’ was a placeholder for a term that he did not know.</p><p>“Like what?” he asked.</p><p>Richard glanced over his shoulder to ensure they were thoroughly alone, before leaning in and whispering in his ear. “What do you like in bed?”</p><p>What did he like in bed? Thomas had never considered such a thing, he figured that everyone had the same desires. Pillows, blankets… occasionally a nice duvet when the chill of winter crept in.</p><p>“…P… Pillows?” He stuttered.</p><p>Richard blinked, then stroked his hand with steady fingers. “Oh my sweet summer dew drop,” it was both a praise and an insult all in one go. Clearly ‘pillows and blankets’ hadn’t been the answer that Richard was looking for. “Don’t worry, it’s not so easy to talk about in public. Frankly we shouldn’t be doing it at all.”</p><p>“I feel like an idiot,” he complained.</p><p>“You’re not,” Richard assured him at once. “I’m a unique man with unique tastes, that’s all. Once the shoes’ dropped, you’ll be right on track.”</p><p>So clearly this wasn’t a conversation they ought to finish on the outskirts of a church. But the pair of them were far from conventional, and somehow this jab in the face of God seemed to bring them a deep sense of pleasure.</p><p>Richard leaned in, and with his mouth carefully to the shell of Thomas’ ear, whispered, “What do you like sexually in bed? What brings you sexual pleasure?”</p><p>A soft shudder went down Thomas’ spine, ending at the very base of his spine. He could swear he felt his rectum tighten, which was bizarre but not unpleasant. His eyes fluttered closed, with warm thoughts making him feel aroused. Richard was right, this wasn’t the kind of conversation you should have in public.</p><p>His palms were beginning to sweat.</p><p>“I…” Richard’s mouth was moist against the shell of his ear. “I don’t know.”</p><p>He turned, his nose cautiously brushing against the other’s cheek.</p><p>“Then we have much to discover.” Richard grinned. There was something dangerous in his smile. Something which made Thomas want to be supplicant and devoured alive.</p><p>It thrilled him.</p><p>“And what about you?” He whispered, lips barely moving in the cold winter air. Even so a trill of steam exited his mouth, breath meeting air.</p><p>“Oh I know what I like,” Richard said.</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>He leaned in even closer. They were indecently close now, and any passersby could in turn unfortunate witnesses to their madness.</p><p>Richard grinned, eyelashes low upon his cheekbones.</p><p>“Rope,” he said.</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Not even two miles away, down the back end of a dilapidated coal mine, Christopher Webster made his way to Peter Coyle’s personal quarters.</p><p>It was impossible to have creature comforts when you were a fugitive, but Coyle was a master at getting by unnoticed and this coal mine suited their purposes well. It had been, until recently, an industry staple in the area. But a lack of coal production had lead to the mine being abandoned for more fruitful pursuits on other hills. It resulted in well carved tunnels that stretched for ages, hiding away little pockets were criminals could roll out a mock bed and kip down for the night away from the snow. For the first couple of leagues as you walked down the coal mine, you could feel the biting sting of winter. Sometimes when the wind blew hard, it could even cast snow far back into the mine. Eventually, though, the true edge of winter was dulled by closed off caverns. It was here that the entire atmosphere of the tunnel changed. Fires were stoked in piles along the length of the main corridor, around which men would gather to roast bits of rabbit they’d scrounged from the woods or cigarettes they’d won in a game of cards. This was usually as far as Christopher went, when he came to visit. His proximity to Coyle put him in a ruined water mill about half a mile from the coal mine, which served as a half-way point for any crusades that Coyle carried out. It might have been wetter and colder than the mine, but it was distinctly more human and suited Christopher’s purposes well.</p><p>He’d even been lucky enough to find an actual bed to sleep in, though rats had eaten holes through the bottom of the thin mattress.</p><p> </p><p>Coyle’s particular nook was at the very far back of the mine, right before it dropped off into a pit where a crank shaft elevator had once taken men down to the very bottom. The drop was steep, one slip and you’d find yourself crossing St. Peter at the pearly gates. At the very bottom of the pot, rooms had been carved out of walls that had once been chock full of coal. At some point, a manager might have kept company with his men in those rooms. It had been assumed Coyle would move in here, because it kept the most privacy. But it seemed that he’d had other plans, because instead of going down in the pit Coyle had decided to stay at the top with the rest of the men. Perhaps, despite his edge, he was still nervous about the dark and the depths.</p><p>Christopher couldn’t blame him.</p><p>Lank and unwashed, Coyle looked like a strung-out pole bean relaxing upon a worn mat next to a tiny fire. He was lost in thought as Christopher approached, mindless to company. But he’d called for Christopher personally, had even sent a man to go fetch him from the mill. He was expecting him, waiting for him, even if he seemed far away.</p><p>“Well, hello, sugar,” he mocked.</p><p>Coyle did not even deign to look at him, captivated by the firelight from his grate.</p><p>“I need something from you,” Coyle said. Christopher braced himself.</p><p>“Alright.”</p><p>“Greek fire.”</p><p>Well wasn’t that cute.</p><p>Greek fire was an incredibly dangerous concoction, and one that had nearly cost Christopher two of the fingers on his left hand. It was a combination of resin and sulfur and could not be put out by the traditional methods of water. For this reason, it was perhaps one of the deadliest elements that Christopher had in his arsenal. He’d kept it hidden from Coyle, hoping it would be never brought up, but it seemed that someone had run their mouth because now Coyle was asking for it.</p><p>No… not asking for it. Demanding it. Even if he didn’t demand it outright, it was still a demand that Christopher had to accept.</p><p><em>He has a gun in his pocket, </em>Christopher thought. <em>A razor in his shoe. There are four other guns hiding in this nook… I can pinpoint where three of them are. </em></p><p>“Mm… Yeah I’ve got that,” Christopher eyed a loose stone in the holding of the makeshift fireplace. Gun one…</p><p>“Bit higher grade than what you usually drink,” He tried for a joke, but it lacked the follow through. He was fixated wholly on the mat where Coyle sat… Gun two.</p><p>“I was planning on burning down a church with it,” Coyle explained. That was slightly sacrilegious even for him, but if Thomas was to be believed (and he was to be believed in all matters) then the proprietor of the church was a cunt.</p><p>“You could do that. Hell, you could burn water with it,” Christopher said. He noted that at Coyle’s feet there was a wicker basket which held bits of wood that they’d scrounged together from the outside world. Trash nobody would miss and could easily burn. That must be where he was hiding gun number three….</p><p>Now where was number four?</p><p>“What’s the score?” Christopher took a couple of paces to the left, carefully examining the layout of this little cubby hole that Coyle had made. A few pallets on the floor to sleep with. A basin to wash his face in. Nothing grand, nothing over the top… but this was where evil made its home. This was where Satan chose to lay.</p><p>“We’re changing direction momentarily,” Coyle said.</p><p>“Alright,” Christopher pulled out a cigarette from his pocket; he was down to half a pack, he’d have to steal a new one soon.</p><p>“We need to take out a reinforcement first,” Coyle explained. “Then we can get Petal. She’s got this… friend…”</p><p>Christopher paused; his cigarette perched between his lips but unlit.</p><p>Friend, what did he mean by friend? Coyle didn’t acknowledge friendship in any form. Why use the term now, unless somebody else had given it to him.</p><p>“..Friend,” Christopher repeated the word, his back to the man. If he turned his face now, Coyle would know everything. He had to hide his expression until he could be absolutely certain.</p><p>“A man named Thomas Barrow,” Christopher grimaced, his face contorting into an expression of pain. “s’why I called you here. That an’ the Greek Fire. That night on the wagonette… he spoke to you. By name. Why’s that?”</p><p>For a moment, Christopher was absolutely silent. To buy himself time, he pretended to be striking up a cigarette with a faulty lighter. In fact, the lighter worked perfectly well, he just wasn’t rolling the wheel with enough pressure, so it looked like he didn’t have any fuel left.</p><p>“Borrow a light?” Christopher asked, pocketing his lighter. “Mine’s a bit spare.”</p><p>Coyle took a thin reedy little piece of wood from his wicker basket and lit it with the fire. He then passed it to Christopher, so that he might use its glowing tip to light his cigarette. He did so and took a deep drag. The tobacco served to calm his jangled nerves, for they were good and properly jangled in that moment.</p><p>Coyle had changed his targets, and so Christopher had changed his loyalties. Though Coyle did not know it, Christopher was now fully prepared to betray him, to even kill him. Anything to protect the man he’d come to so care for. To even love.</p><p>“I know him,” Christopher explained. He shucked his hands in his pockets, playing with his own straight razor which he hid from sight. It wouldn’t be enough to overpower a gun, certainly not at close range, but it might be enough to buy him a bit of time while he got the gun out of the wall and used it against its master. Christopher relaxed against the wall and wondered if Coyle already knew he was planning betrayal. He wondered in that moment if Coyle realized why he was leaning up against the wall.</p><p>This was a tango with death.</p><p>“How,” Coyle asked.</p><p>It was the first step in their routine. From here on out, it would be a duel for domination.</p><p>“Night club. Had a drink.” Both a lie and a truth.</p><p>“Old friend?” Loyalties tested.</p><p>“No. I met him right before I met you,” A reminder of fragility.</p><p>“Is he like you?” Coyle wasn’t the type to give half a shit. “Does he fuck other men?”</p><p>“No,” A lie, and now the real test began. “Nothing like that.”</p><p>But Coyle wasn’t fobbed off by bullshit, and he could smell blood as good as any shark or dog.</p><p>“Are you going to be a problem?” Coyle asked. He never shifted on that rug, he never even made to pull out a gun or a razor or anything. And that was what really disturbed Christopher. He was used to posturing. To men being hot under the collar and demanding a fight in the alley. But this … creepy lack of emotion wasn’t something he was prepared to endure for much longer. It was practically inhuman. Like Coyle was a doll, instead of a man. Like he didn’t even register the words coming out of his own mouth.</p><p>“Is this going to be a problem?” Coyle continued on, for Christopher hadn’t answered yet. “I don’t like problems.”</p><p>This was a convenient way of saying that Coyle would kill him given half the chance.</p><p>But Christopher wasn’t some two-bit criminal, a petty thief or a rat in the gutter. He’d played this game for a long time, and life had molded him into the sort of man that could handle a hot situation.</p><p>“Problem isn’t the word for it,” he said. What it really was… was a fact. A fact that he, from now on, would do whatever it took to stop Coyle and save Thomas.</p><p>“Then what is?”</p><p>“It’s a fact,” This was as truthful as Christopher could be with man like Coyle. It was the twist of an ankle in the middle of a tango. The pinnacle of a balance on the edge of a knife. It was a fact that Christopher was going to stop at nothing to keep Thomas safe. It was a fact that Christopher would gladly throw himself on the pyre to save the man he so cared for. And if it just so happened that Coyle got in his way… he would kill him.</p><p>“How much Greek fire can you get me?” Coyle asked. His answer to the other question went unchallenged, or perhaps simply unacknowledged. It was difficult to know.</p><p>“How much do you need?”</p><p>“Enough to burn down the reception hall where they’ll be holding the wedding reception,” Coyle said. “And then create a barrier between me and the police.”</p><p>“Mmm…” Christopher considered the options. Greek fire spread easily particularly when one canister mixed with another. He had around six crates, and if he was truly trying to be friends with Coyle had might have offered him three. Instead, he said, “A crate would do it. It spreads easily even on snow. Doesn’t matter how wet it is… Leave it to me and I’ll get it ready for you.”</p><p>Yet as Christopher turned to go, he was stopped by Coyle once again: “Christopher.”</p><p>He turned and looked. Coyle was watching him with knowing eyes. They were like the eyes of a shark right before it bit into the flesh of a dying animal. “I know you’re lying to me about something. I just don’t know what.”</p><p>He could deny it but there was no point. Coyle would destroy him if he tried to hide.</p><p>“Now Peter…” Christopher teased him with a wicked smile. “Where would the fun be in me telling you?”</p><p>And so he left, knowing full well that perhaps with those words he had sealed his own fate.</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>That night, mindless to the impending chaos that was to follow, Thomas had dinner with the wedding party in the servant’s hall. Normally, dinner was a quiet affair until sherry was poured and the radio was turned on. Tonight, however, the family had been kind enough to allow the servants to have a moment of selfish reprieve. Instead of having to worry about cleaning or polishing, they sat clustered in a large group around the table with an enormous spread laid out via Mrs. Patmore. The Moseley family had come to dine, and it granted Thomas the chance to see what stock Moseley himself came from. His father was a doddering old wheezy man, with a brilliant smile and shaky hands. He looked like one good breath could blow him over, and it suddenly made sense why Baxter had wanted Thomas to be the one to walk her up the aisle.  Moseley’s sister, a thin and reedy woman named Grace, had crows feet at the corners of her brown eyes and graying hair. Her daughter was Gertie’s age, and had somehow managed to come out looking quite lovely despite the fact that all her relatives were hideous. She kept pestering Baxter with questions about her unborn baby, desperate that when the time for birth should come that she should be one of the first to hold it. Like all teenagers, she had a fairy tale image of what babies were that would soon be shattered when it began to defecate and scream.</p><p>Thomas sat next to Richard at the table, across from Baxter and Moseley. Despite the fact that they were enjoying a truly delicious beef wellington, he was having a hard time concentrating on the food.</p><p>All he could think of was the way that Richard had said the word ‘rope’. It was enough to give him an erection at the table.</p><p>“We should have had this dinner,” Bates sighed, looking about at the fairy lights and the flowers, “A dinner, a fine time with our family and friends.”</p><p>“I’ve already told you,” she smiled, “I got everything that I wanted when I married you.” She took his hand atop the table, that was about as romantic as the pair of them got in public, but it was more than enough for him.</p><p>“I can’t wait to see your dress tomorrow,” Daisy beamed at Baxter. “You’re going to look amazing. I’ve made you a crown of thistle with sprigs of lavender. I’m very pleased with myself.” And she certainly looked smug too as she cut into her slice of cake.</p><p>“It feels like a dream,” and Baxter certainly looked like she was dreaming. Every so often she’d glance up and around, amazed all the good fortune falling in her lap.</p><p>But of course, times like these were not only fun for the youth. Those who were in their senior years at the table were also relieving happy moments. Mr. Moseley senior, in particular, was delighted. After all, tonight was the night before his only son’s wedding. He might already have grandchildren by his daughter, but it was clear that Joseph’s marriage was special to him. Perhaps he’d given up hoping after so many years, or perhaps he’d never given up hope at all. Maybe this felt like the grand reward after a lifetime spent in faithful waiting.</p><p>“Ah, I can remember when it was my wedding,” Moseley senior gave a dreamy sigh, eyes to the ceiling. “I was oh… fifteen? She was beautiful. Sweet. Kind. Agnes, my dear Agnes…” And Agnes certainly sounded like the name for Moseley’s mother. Boring, placid, and uneventful.</p><p>And now everyone was talking about how they’d fallen in love. Thomas was notably the only one silent at the table, save for Richard. The pair of them were side by side, and though perhaps no one might notice it unless they were looking, Richard’s left hand and Thomas’ right hand were both underneath the table.</p><p>They were playing with each other’s fingers, their thoughts just as tightly weaved.</p><p>Richard had said that he was a man of special sexual interests, and now that Thomas understood exactly what that meant his mind had become a filthy place. He found himself thinking of every type of rope he’d ever handled in his life. Of soft silky ropes that could be pulled in bell fashion to summon a servant. Of rough, rigid rope to keep a horse at bay when the family was going on a stroll. Of thin, fine rope that bound meat when it was to be roasted. And then, he inevitably wondered what each rope would feel like his skin if Richard were to tie him up. And how would he tie him up, he had to wonder?</p><p>Would his hands be bound behind his back, helpless to prevent any assault from the front? Or would he bind Thomas’ wrists to his knees, so that he could not move away from an approach? Would it be four corners of the bed situation, where his body was spread out like butter upon toast, and Richard could devour him any such way he chose?</p><p> </p><p>It made his channel tight, his body warm, and embarrassingly enough the tip of his penis wet. He hadn’t had sex in ages; the last time he’d been in America and had found himself in the company of several young boat stewards who were bored of work and wanted to have a bit of fun. One had looked a bit like Jimmy, except with brown hair, but it hadn’t mattered. He’d been young, sweet, and far too flirtatious for Thomas to avoid. So, when he’d come to ‘check’ on Thomas in the middle of the night, Thomas had rewarded him by shutting and locking the door, turning out the light, stuffing a towel in the door crack, and then taking the steward on his rented bunk three times. Once on his back, once on his front, and once in Thomas’ lap, riding him at a flagrant gallop.</p><p>He’d been quite a dazzling time, but he hadn’t put this sort of arousal in Thomas.</p><p>No one had. Not even Jimmy.</p><p> </p><p>“Thomas?”</p><p>Richard was squeezing his hand under the table, catching his attention. He jerked, taken aback, and found several people were looking at him; Daisy was watching expectantly.</p><p>“I’m sorry I was thinking about tomorrow, and what needs to be done,” He lied. “What was that?”</p><p>“I was asking about your experiences with love.” Daisy said.</p><p>The table had gone unnervingly quiet. At the far end, Carson was glaring at Thomas, warning him not to say anything that he might regret. Bates and Anna were watching expectantly and seemed slightly sorry for him. Perhaps they could sympathize with having a difficult love life. But Baxter was his strength and light. She nodded, urging him.</p><p>“Go on,” She said. “You don’t have to give lurid details.”</p><p>And this was true. He could just… skirt around the topics. But in that moment, Thomas felt oddly jaded. He shouldn’t be jealous or envious, not on the night before Baxter’s wedding. But this moment, with everyone sitting at a table doting on love and happiness… it would never happen for him. He’d never know what this felt like.</p><p>And it spurned him.</p><p>“I don’t have a love life,” Thomas lied. Underneath the table, Richard squeezed his hand in understanding. He squeezed back, taking great comfort in that grip.</p><p>“I don’t think that’s true,” Daisy said.</p><p>“Don’t be shy,” Moseley senior was as daft as ever, “Give the girl what she wants. It’s always been my experience to give beautiful women a reason to smile. I’m sure you’ve done it many times. You’re a good-looking man.”</p><p>But Thomas could not allow himself to indulge. It just… it felt like a cement block trying to force its way out of his throat. It would not fit, nor budge. And no amount of pleading would make it.</p><p>“I don’t get to have a love life,” Thomas repeated.</p><p>“Everyone has a love life,” Daisy said. “And weddings. And you can too.”</p><p>“No, I can’t,” Thomas said. When Daisy opened her mouth again he cut her off. “Daisy tonight is about Ms. Baxter and Mr. Moseley. Let’s keep it that way, please.”</p><p>And this seemed to truly grasp her; perhaps she’d been thinking he might say something more selfish or cynical. To hear him defer to another’s happiness instead of denying it was almost more unnerving to her at this point.</p><p>Down at the far end of the table, Carson warily returned to his cake.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>After dinner, Thomas was one of the very last people to go up. He ought to be getting some shut eye, after all tomorrow was to be a grand and glorious day with Baxter on his arm for the first half of it. But he wanted to give the vase that they were using a final polishing, and he didn’t trust it to Albert. Some pieces were more expensive than others, some were simply old. This piece was both, and so Thomas used a fine bristle brush to get into the tightest grooves of grape leaves and cherub swirls. Under his breath, he hummed Highland Cathedral, the tune to which he and Baxter would walk down the aisle.</p><p>He heard the door open and glanced over his shoulder expecting to find Richard. Instead, he was greeted with the unpleasant sight of Carson. He carried his coat over his shoulder, along with his walking stick. Clearly he was about to head out into the night.</p><p>“I thought I might find you here,” Carson said. His fingers drummed a bit on the head of his cane. The sight of it brought back far too many ugly memories of the night when Thomas had decided to take his own life.</p><p>The night when Carson had falsely accused him of being a pedophile. Of assaulting another member of staff.</p><p>“Oh goody,” Thomas sneered, muttering nastily under his breath, “The walking stick returns. Are you going to beat me this time, or are you just going to accuse of me of assaulting a child again?”</p><p> </p><p>Carson bristled. That was a direct attack and it seemed it rubbed his conscience.</p><p><em>Good, </em>Thomas thought bitterly.</p><p>“You seemed rather down over dinner,” Carson said.</p><p>Thomas did not reply, instead focusing on the silver vase in hand. Really it was done, by this point, but it never hurt to go over the finer details one last time.</p><p>In the silence that stretched on, Carson shifted topics. Thomas noted that his voice became a little more tense, like perhaps he knew Thomas would react poorly to whatever was going to come next.</p><p>“Thomas, I’ve been thinking about tomorrow-“</p><p>“Don’t call me that,” Thomas warned. “Call me Mr. Barrow.”</p><p>Carson paused, registering this.</p><p>“Is it so shocking for me to call you by your first name when I was your butler for so many years?” Carson asked. This was admittedly true, but also besides the point.</p><p>“Please call me by my surname,” Thomas repeated.</p><p>Instead of acknowledging this and calling him as such, Carson simply continued on. “I’ve been thinking about tomorrow. And I want you to reconsider walking Ms. Baxter down the aisle.”</p><p>Thomas paused, the vase heavy in his hands.</p><p>He looked at Carson, who was now beginning to sweat. Why did he look so afraid? Did he think Thomas was going to attack him?</p><p><em>That might be right on character, </em>he thought. But it seemed to be deeper than that.</p><p>“I was contacted today by Father Travis who has spoken to me about the amount of scandal it would cause in the village and… I’m worried,” and he certainly looked it. “I’m afraid that if you walk her down the aisle, we’ll all live to regret it. I know that you don’t want that, particularly for her. I know how much she means to you.”</p><p>It was the fact that Travis had dared to call Carson; how could the man have possibly known that Thomas’ relationship with Carson was so twisted and convoluted? Had he just figured it out, or was it a wild stab in the dark?</p><p>“Will you reconsider it?” Carson asked.</p><p>The words coming out of Thomas’ mouth were like water from a faucet. He almost couldn’t register what he was saying. It… it was like he’d become possessed.</p><p>“It’s not my decision to make,” His lips were numb as he fiddled with the polishing cloth. He put the vase down, he didn’t trust himself to hold onto it anymore. “It’s Ms. Baxter’s. You’ll need to speak with her.”</p><p>“You’re right,” Carson was taken aback by it. “But I don’t want to bother her tonight, when she’s to be married tomorrow and-“</p><p>Something about that word. Bother.</p><p>
  <em>Bother. </em>
</p><p>“But you will bother me,” Thomas repeated it with venom, glaring at the man. The polishing cloth was all but twisted to thread between white fingers. “You will always bother me, won’t you? You do so love to push and torment me. I’m your favorite punching bag, it seems.”</p><p>“I beg your pardon?” Carson was astounded.</p><p>“What do you want of me?” Thomas asked the man, and he was shocked at how gentle his tone was when it was spoken with such acidity. “What do you need to hear to go away? Tell me, and I will gladly say it to make you leave me alone. Because I don’t want to hear your voice anymore.”</p><p>“I don’t know where this attitude is coming from, but I am speaking out of a concern for you!” Carson reprimanded.</p><p>He laughed, throwing back his head and cackling to the ceiling. Carson spoke over him.</p><p>“Thomas, I know you don’t believe that I care about you, but I do! You may not attend church on a regular basis but everyone else in the house does and if Travis takes offense, he could make your life very difficult! I don’t want you to get hurt! I don’t want shame to be brought upon this house, or for that matter, you!”</p><p>“Shame,” he repeated the word, “Shame, shame, shame-“ he turned way, chucking the polishing rag to the counter and hurriedly screwing back on the lid of the Vim paste. “I am the epitome of shame to you.”</p><p>“You know what I mean!” Now Carson was the angry one. “Your dramatics will not paint you any lighter shade. Baxter deserves a wedding that is full of bliss, not fear, and if Travis is-“</p><p>“I have dealt with men like you and Travis all my life!” Thomas rounded on Carson, furious. The man paused, reproachful.</p><p>“All my life..” he wondered at the audacity of it all. “All my life I have wanted nothing more than…” but he could not go on. He could not admit the truth.</p><p>“…Mason was a fool,” he finally muttered. “He had no idea what he was talking about.”</p><p>“And what does that mean?” Carson asked, his voice clipped with irritability.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>He loves you. He’s your father. An’ father’s… always love their children. You are loved. It’s time you knew how much.”</em></p><p>Thomas heard the voice echoing in his head… a man long dead. A voice so sorely needed tonight.</p><p>But standing here before Carson, Thomas did not see love. He did not see a man who looked at him as a father might his son.</p><p>All he saw was the father that had nearly destroyed him.</p><p>Unable to face these facts with a composed face, Thomas left the silver pantry. He brushed past Carson, unable to make the man step aside so that he might go unimpeded. Though he did not know it, Carson watched him walk away the whole time. Only when the door had closed to the outer hall did Carson finally let his expression melt from stony indifference to exhaustion.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The morning of Daisy’s wedding had been one full of wails and screeches, with flowers everywhere and garish pink turning Thomas’ dreams to nightmares.</p><p>The morning of Baxter’s wedding, Thomas awoke to pure and blessed silence. He stretched, letting his muscles clench and his toes pop and he slowly sat up in bed and observed himself in his standing mirror across the way.</p><p>He looked like a fucking lunatic, and no mistake.</p><p>Thomas exited his room, intent on having a piss and taking a bath, to nearly kick over a cup of steaming hot coffee on a tray with a little vase full of wildflowers upon it. Amazed, Thomas bent over and picked the whole display up.</p><p>It seemed that someone had been thinking of him.</p><p>Grateful for a cuppa, Thomas took it to the bathroom and ran the tap to begin his morning routine. He ought to be smiling and whistling as he washed and shaved, but everytime he began to hum he was reminded once again of Carson last night.</p><p>Of how he’d claimed to care for Thomas.</p><p>It was nonsense, or so he told himself as he returned to his room. With a towel slung low upon his hips, he dried off and began to dress, ironing his morning suit with a few hot coals from his personal fireplace. He’d seen ads in magazines for electric irons, but he’d not bought one as of yet… it just didn’t seem plausible, for anything electric to bring on enough heat to flatten a piece of fabric.</p><p>All around him, Thomas could hear signs of life. Moseley wasn’t screaming about his suit being foul or there not being enough flowers, but he was still a jittery wreck.</p><p><em>“My hair!” </em>He heard Moseley moan outside in the hallway. <em>“Why couldn’t I have thicker hair like mum?” </em></p><p><em>“You have my hair, son!” </em>and there was Moseley senior, trying to comfort him. <em>“and a handsome head it is too.” </em></p><p>
  <em>“That’s a flat out lie, I look like a fish!” </em>
</p><p>Thomas snorted, suppressing an ugly laugh. Mercifully for him, he’d been born with his father’s hair which was thick and black. No worries of looking like a fish, for him!</p><p>As he did up his breeches, his shirtsleeves, his suspenders, and his vest, Thomas found himself looking more at peace. He contented himself with his work, allowing himself to momentarily forget Carson.</p><p>About half an hour into his grooming, a gentle knock came upon the door. This time it was Richard, looking quite handsome in a morning suit of light gray and lavender.</p><p> </p><p>“Ready to go?” Thomas glanced in the mirror. Richard was incredibly handsome in that moment, with a fine waistcoat of embroidered Victorian swirls in gold and purple. He shut the door to Thomas’ room, offering them some modicum of privacy, and at once swooped him up from behind to place a sweet kiss on his ear. “We’re about to start loading up the wagonette. Anna will stay behind. You’re going to ride with Phyllis in the motorcar. We want to give you time to have her come downstairs without anyone else seeing.”</p><p>“Mm…” Thomas toyed with his ascot.</p><p>Richard took it from his hands, helping him to fasten it securely about his neck. “You don’t look too happy. Why’s that?”</p><p>He considered lying but couldn’t summon it. Instead he allowed himself to look into Richards’ eyes, and see the support there that he so needed.</p><p>“… Carson came to my office last night,” Thomas whispered. Richard said nothing, listening intently as he fixed Thomas’ ascot beneath the dip of his waistcoat. “He asked me not to walk Baxter up the aisle. Said it would bring shame.”</p><p>Implicitly, Richard understood what this meant to Thomas and why it was so upsetting. And in his return, he very gently reached out and gathered Thomas in his arms. There, in the embrace of the man who loved him most, Thomas felt an incredible sense of peace. He laid his head upon Richard’s shoulder, smelling the musky aroma of his cologne. He closed his eyes, the soft white light from beyond his curtains painting the inside of his eyelids a dusky pink.</p><p>“There is nothing you could do to bring shame to this day,” Richard whispered in his ear. “You are the lynchpin to her happiness. You are delivering her into the hands of the man she loves.”</p><p>He petted the back of Thomas’ hair for a moment. When he felt better composed, he pulled back. The pair of them smiled at one another sweetly before Thomas returned to carefully tending to his reflection. He fixed the tiny flower upon his breast, marveling at the beautiful purple pop of color.</p><p>“Thank you,” Thomas said. Richard just shrugged with a blissful smile.</p><p>“What I’m here for,” He said. “That an’ the mind-blowing sex we’re soon going to be having.”</p><p>Thomas spluttered, slapping Richard gently upon the chest in admonishment.</p><p>“What?” Richard teased.</p><p>“You’re insane,” Thomas grinned. “But you do have charm.”</p><p>“Oh do I?”</p><p>“Buckets of it.” And at this, he could not help but admit. “I’ve even been thinking about… things.”</p><p>“oh yeah?” Richard checked over his shoulder to the door, still securely closed. He took a step closer so that he might speak directly into Thomas ear. “Be a good boy and tell me what?”</p><p>“I’ve been wondering what kind of rope you’ll use,” Thomas admitted.</p><p>“Strips of velvet and silk,” Richard replied. “It’s softer on the skin…. Not to mention easier to come by in our line of work.”</p><p>So that was one question answered. “I’ve also wondered… what… it would look like… when we did things.”</p><p>“Mm,” Richard placed a tender hand upon the base of Thomas’ back, carefully tracing the lines of his suspenders beneath his waistcoat. “Well that depends on you.”</p><p>At first, Thomas wondered if this would be some kind of awful test until Richard then went on to say, “I want to please you… to make you feel like you’re the only man in the world. Because you are to me. You’re the love of my life.”</p><p>Thomas stared at him in wonder. At those gentle brown eyes… He had a feeling he would never stop remembering the sight of his eyes. That they would haunt him every time he closed his own.</p><p>“So we’ll talk about it… try things out… whatever you like best, we’ll do,” Richard said. “An if you don’t like it all, we don’t do it. It’s as simple as that.”</p><p> </p><p>It was perhaps the fact that Richard was so quick to accept that Thomas might not be keen, and hadn’t taken it personally, which made Thomas swoon. So often in his life, Thomas had felt like he was putting on a show whether it was for Lord Grantham, Mrs. Hughes, or even for Baxter. But he never felt that way with Richard. When they were alone together, Thomas felt the shell of his personality fall away to reveal his tender core underneath. Like an artichoke he was completely undone to reveal a plump and delectable heart that Richard could devour.</p><p>But he didn’t. Instead, he said ‘if you don’t like it, we don’t do it’. How remarkable.</p><p> </p><p>“I love you,” Thomas whispered. It embarrassed him to know he was close to tears.</p><p>But Richard reached out and ever so tenderly placed a finger beneath the bottom of his chin to push him upwards. There, eye to eye, they stared at one another. Understood one another. Melded.</p><p>“I did not know love, until I knew you,” Richard said. Thomas agreed wholeheartedly.</p><p>Richard leaned in, and Thomas met him halfway. Their lips were perfectly pressed together, eyelashes fluttering on the opposite’s cheek. Here, in their finest garb, with the sound of wedding bells echoing in their ears, it was close enough to imagine that paradise was in their grasp.</p><p>They brushed noses, parting if only for a moment so that Richard might kiss the tip of Thomas’ long Roman nose.</p><p>He leaned forward again, not kissing so much as simply tasting. Soaking up.</p><p>“I love you,” he whispered the words over and over again into Richard’s skin. He wanted to say it forever. To never be parted. “I love you, I love you-“</p><p><em>“Mr. Ellis! Mr. Barrow! The wagonettes getting ready to leave-!” </em>Andy called out from the hallway.</p><p>On instinct, they left apart, panting slightly in their desperation and anxiety. Thomas quickly straightened his ascot while Richard tugged at the bottom of his waistcoat. Neither were happy to be interrupted.</p><p>“Just a second!” Richard called back.</p><p>They stared at one another, plaintive in their affections.</p><p>“… Well… we better go,” Richard said.</p><p>He nodded and followed him out.</p><p> </p><p>It was rather fun, to watch everyone pile up into the wagonette and leave him behind. To give Baxter privacy in her final moments as a single woman, Thomas and Anna alone remained behind. They would be driven by a friend of Moseley senior’s (the family chauffer was naturally taking them to the church). He waved the others off, a boutonniere of thistle pinned smartly to his breast. Moseley was in a fit of delirium, crying out from the wagonette as it rounded the corner: “This is the happiest day of my life!”</p><p>Rolling his eyes, Thomas returned to the abandoned servants hall and started on his second cup of coffee.</p><p>Anna was upstairs, helping Baxter to put together her final look as a bride. Taking his time, Thomas puttered about the kitchen, noting that Mrs. Patmore had scribbled a few things down on a personal shopping list. He casually plucked up the pencil and wrote down ‘Vim’; they needed some more polishing cream.</p><p>When Thomas noticed a shadow coming down the stairs, he momentarily thought it was Baxter. Instead, disgust rippled through him as he realized it was O’Brien.</p><p>He refused to meet her eyes, depositing is half-finished coffee cup in the sink to instead head for his office. She probably wanted a cuppa, and that was her right, but he by no means wanted to share space with her. Even the energy that she put off made him want to be physically ill.</p><p>No one had seen O’Brien for days. She’d become a recluse in her punishment. Now alone for the first time with her, Thomas thought he might scream. He wished to god that Baxter would hurry up. What could be taking the woman so long? It wasn’t like she was preparing for her wedding or anything-</p><p>
  <em>Ah. Right. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>In his office, Thomas sat and waited, reading a book of poetry to pass the time. He heard the sound of O’Brien heading to the servant’s hall and timidly poked his head out the door to find that she was now sitting by the fire. With the coast clear, he returned to the kitchen and poured himself a third cup of coffee before putting the French press in the copper sink. It had been drained dry of brew.</p><p> </p><p>It was ten o’clock on the dot when he heard the sound of heels on the stairs. His heart began to race with nerves; he abandoned the kitchen to head into the hall so that he might have the best view of Baxter coming down.</p><p>And what a view he had.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh my god,” Thomas stuttered around the words, his tongue tied and his lips thick from adrenaline.</p><p>Daisy might have looked pretty in her wedding dress, but Baxter looked utterly ravishing. With a low slung neckline that accentuated the beauty of her collarbone, and fluttering sleeves that lifted with each breeze, she was angelic. The dress clung to her frame, accentuating her normally hidden curves, and though the dress was not beaded or embroidered, there was a clear pattern stitched into the fabric where a crafter had carefully placed a geometric design. At her feet, the dress pooled in every direction, hiding her shoes from sight. To keep her warm in the winter chill, she held over her arm a thick woolen coat. Her coiffed hair, pressed into a finger wave, kept company with a headband made of thistle and lavender, and two pearl earrings that Thomas was certain had been donated by Lady Grantham.</p><p>She was magnificent. A creature from heaven.</p><p>If he’d been a man of a different nature, he would have fallen in love.</p><p>“Here I am…” She declared, spreading her arms in a silent ‘tada’. Anna helped her along, holding up the back of her dress so that she did not trip on it as she walked.</p><p>Thomas’ cheeks hurt, which made no sense until he realized he was grinning like an idiot.</p><p>“… My god,” He wondered, amazed.</p><p>“What do you think?” She asked.</p><p>“I think I’m in love,” he said, which was the bloody truth. Baxter laughed, the noise like a tinkling bell.</p><p>“You know….” She reached out and carefully adjusted the thistle boutonniere upon his breast. “I’d of died without you, Thomas Barrow. Both me and my baby.”</p><p>“Well, then I suppose we are even, Phyllis Baxter,” he said.</p><p>“I was so scared,” her voice was as soft as silk, while Anna opened the door to the area yard and handed her bouquet off to the wagonette driver so that she had both hands free for the wedding veil and the dress. “I’d forgotten what it felt like… to have faith in goodness.”</p><p>He reached up and touched her hair where it lay curled in a finger wave.</p><p>“He’s a monster, and-“</p><p>“Ey…” He let his hand drop, his finger brushing upon her scarlet painted lips. She looked up at him amazed.</p><p>“Not today,” He promised her. “You are surrounded by a holy light, and in it no evil can exist.”</p><p>Soothed, and perhaps a little in love herself, Phyllis Baxter leaned in and crushed herself against Thomas’ chest so that he might wrap his arms around her. At the door, Anna was beaming herself, with tears sparkling in her baby blue eyes.</p><p>“I might cry,” and her voice was certainly thick enough to betray it. “I never you to be so kind, Thomas.”</p><p>“You’re not Phyllis,” Was all he could think to say. Such sweetness was saved only for her. The first and last woman he’d ever loved.</p><p>“I’ll try not to be jealous, but it will be hard,” Anna teased.</p><p>She came behind Baxter and carefully picked up her train and her veil so that both would not touch the ground on their way to the wagonette. As they made their way down the area hall, Thomas noted that O’Brien was still watching from the servant’s hall. There was something peculiar in her gaze.</p><p>Something sad… like she was feeling sorry, or maybe even a little guilty.</p><p>No words passed between them as they left; Thomas was the last one out of the servant’s hall and locked the door as he closed it on O’Brien’s face.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Inside the hall, O’Brien sat alone for just a moment, waiting until she heard the sound of the wagonette pulling away. Then, quick as a flash, she left her book and the hearth to head to Thomas’ office door. She pulled out her lockpick to try and gain access, only to be thwarted. It seemed that he’d gotten smarter.</p><p>Sighing in irritation, she headed up the stairs, having to hustle to make it in time to the telephone which sat in the library. By rights she didn’t have the authority to be here, not when there wasn’t any family to be served. But everyone was out of the house save for her and the dog; it wouldn’t tell her secrets, curled up by the fire.</p><p>O’Brien snatched up the telephone, “Get me the Red Witch in Thirsk,” She said.</p><p>As soon as she was connected, she said the age-old line, “I have to place a bet for the bookie.”</p><p>For a moment there was silence. Then?</p><p><em>“Well?” </em>Coyle murmured.</p><p>“They’re on the move,” O’Brien said. “I’m heading out now.”</p><p><em>“Take the back way, stay off the road,” </em>Coyle commanded. <em>“Bring everything you need. We’re making our move tonight.” </em></p><p>“When?” She asked.</p><p><em>“The reception,” </em>Coyle said. <em>“Two birds, one stone.” </em></p><p>And with that, he hung up the phone.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Riding with Baxter to the church made Thomas feel like he was in a fairy tale. When a lady from the family got married, the streets were paved with flowers and the villagers came running out to see her in her finery. Baxter received none of these delights, but the occasional little girl on the streets did run up to the curb to watch her pass with an ear splitting grin. Baxter waved, happy for the chance to be in the spotlight. The church itself was hardly done up to the nines, but the grass had been freshly mowed and string of wagonettes along the side road could be seen as evidence of their party inside.</p><p>The motorcar pulled around to the front of the church, and Thomas opened the door to help both Anna and Baxter out. It was a three man adventure, getting her out of the streets and inside of the church without staining the hem of her lace dress. Anna was a saint, gathering up Baxter’s trail in her arms so that Thomas might hold both their bouquets. They bid their farewells to the driver, and then hurried inside so that they might receive some shelter from the bitter winter cold.</p><p>They could hear the faint drabble of organ music from beyond heavy wooden doors. The guests were still sitting down, still getting ready for the ‘main event’. Thomas checked his pocket watch and found that they were right on time. My god it felt good to hit the nail on the head!</p><p>But now came the truly difficult part of getting Baxter mentally prepared for being the center of attention. It was one thing to ride in a carriage and wave, it was another to walk down the aisle. She was hardly a milquetoast lady, even if she often kept to herself, but in this moment she’d turned into a fragile little flower.</p><p>She paced back and forth, her train swiveling each time she changed direction. Anna had given up the ghost, unable to keep Baxter still. She now stood at the door, allowing the cool air to refresh  her heated skin. She was five months into her pregnancy, and quite round. Thomas held onto her bouquet, lest she worry it to death.</p><p> </p><p>“My god, my hands are sweating,” Baxter’s voice was shaking too. It seemed the nerves were eating at her. “I’m actually nervous.”</p><p>And, right on cue, the organ began to chime the beginning notes of Highland Cathedral. It was this tune that she’d walked down the aisle to. Christ, now Thomas’ heart was beginning to beat rapidly in his breast. What a bunch of ninnies they were!</p><p>She looked up at him, needing to hear his support. “Am I doing the right thing marrying him?” She asked.</p><p>In the past, Thomas might have thought it mildly amusing to sneer that nobody in their right mind ought to marry a man as dull and lifeless as Joseph Moseley. But today was not the day to cute or coy. This was the wedding of his closest friend, and though he wasn’t exactly Moseley’s number one fan, he still could understand that the man adored Baxter. That he was, in quote, perfect for her.</p><p>“Do you think I’d have let you get this far if I didn’t like him?” Thomas asked.</p><p>“Do you like him?” She wondered.</p><p>He considered it. But it didn’t take long.</p><p>“…Yeah,” He agreed. “I like him. I like him a lot.”</p><p>And she beamed at this.</p><p>“Alright, here we go,” Anna whispered. She hurried about Baxter’s front, and carefully dropped her veil down over her face. She spread her train from behind so that it fanned on the floor and gave the man at the door a thumbs up.</p><p>He nodded and opened it wide.</p><p> </p><p>It was hardly a packed wedding. Despite Travis’ lies that there would be standing room only, half of the church was open to seating. On the right half of the church, every Moseley in England was seated and craning their neck to get a good look at Baxter on Thomas’ arm. On the left, every member of the abbey sat. In total, it resulted in a party of about thirty-five people, but each face was as dear to them as any.</p><p>The far end of the aisle held Travis, in saintly robes of white, holding an enormous bible that looked about as old as the county. Moseley was there, in a morning suit of brown, and was in tears at the sight of the love of his life. Next to him, Bates stood without his cane; Thomas had to wonder if it was within arms reach and simply hiding from sight.</p><p>He was grinning and could not help himself, it was difficult not to feel proud in that moment. He could hear Baxter’s fluttering breath as they walked; her hands were shaking in his grip. He couldn’t speak to her, not without ruining the moment, but in a show of compassion Thomas squeezed her hand to let her know that she was not alone. The organist in the far corner was rather zealous, going ham on the keys so that Highlands Cathedral had turned into a much more pomp and circumstance piece.</p><p>He might have laughed if the situation wasn’t so deadly serious.</p><p>Lady Grantham was tearful, beaming as she watched Baxter pass. Mrs. Hughes was already dabbing at wet eyes, close to blowing her nose in Carson’s handkerchief. Daisy was still looking just as smug as ever, pleased that her crown of flowers was going over so well.</p><p>As they reached the front of the aisle, the organist finished out Highlands Cathedral like they’d been commanded by God himself. It resulted in a royal feel, as silence regained control. Before Travis, Thomas and Baxter stood arm in arm.</p><p>Travis did  not even look at him, instead focusing his eyes upward and outward like he was looking to the saints of heaven more than his congregation.</p><p> </p><p>“Who gives this woman to this man?” Travis spoke in his most saintly and annoying voice. All eyes of the congregation now fell upon Thomas.</p><p>“I do,” he declared. “For her family.”</p><p>It was not the original line he’d wanted to convey, but it was the traditional line, and it seemed that Travis was mildly impressed by it.</p><p>“Join hands,” Travis commanded.</p><p>Thomas looked to Moseley, who was still so punch drunk at the sight of Baxter in her wedding dress that he’d forgotten to offer his hand. Deciding that he had to save the wedding himself, Thomas took Baxter’s hand in his own and forced up Moseley’s so that he could clasp them manually. Moseley’s palm was slick in his grasp.</p><p>“Thank you, Thomas,” he croaked, voice pinched tight and eyes watering. He nodded silently; they would speak later.</p><p>“You may take your seat,” and Thomas was burned by the fact that Travis was starting to smile. Now he would have to walk all the way down the aisle by himself, which was perhaps the most humiliating thing he’d ever done.</p><p>He turned to go.</p><p>“Wait-!”</p><p>Thomas paused, bristling at the sound of Moseley’s voice. He looked back over his shoulder at the man; his eyes were blazing, full of a passion that Thomas had never yet seen before.</p><p>The congregation was dead silent, ears pricked for scandal. Travis looked like he might be sick.</p><p>“Stand beside me,” Moseley said. “For her.”</p><p>A ripple went through the crowd, and not a kind one. Thomas glanced over his shoulder at Carson who had gone white, and Richard who was grinning from ear to ear like a madman.</p><p>He looked back at Moseley, who was still imploring him. At his side, Bates was resolutely waiting; was it Thomas’ imagination or did the man looked pleased?</p><p>“This is most irregular-“ Travis began. But Bates stepped to the left, allowing Thomas room next to Moseley.</p><p>Baxter beamed, delighted. That, in and of itself, made up Thomas’ mind.</p><p>“… As you wish,” he said. He quietly took his place at Moseley’s side, and the pair of them shared a silent look of understanding.</p><p>He’d known what walking down that aisle alone would have meant. What it would have looked like. What Travis wanted it to look like. But he’d stuck his neck out on the line for Thomas… for Baxter. For all of them, really. He’d defied tradition, flouted God’s law right in front of a priest, and had given Thomas the opportunity to be with his best friend as she got married.</p><p>And for all of that, Thomas felt a warmth spreading in his stomach for Moseley. It was the kindling of a true and honest friendship.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It was a truly lovely thing, to see Baxter and Moseley so blissfully happy. At the groom’s side, Thomas was given an up close and personal view to the taking of vows and the giving of rings. He could not stop smiling, so chuffed to find that good had won out over evil. When it was time to kiss, and make good the title of man and wife, Moseley did so with great enthusiasm so that Baxter’s back bowed a little bit.</p><p>If they hadn’t been in church with thirty five people watching, Thomas would have bemoaned his antics.</p><p>And so, as Baxter and Moseley made their way down the aisle, the organist was back at it again, hammering on the keys to create a crescendo of golden noise. They walked out hand in hand, beaming and waving to their friends and family. Applause rippled through the church, with everyone getting up at the same time to start the crowded effort of going out of the church after the newly wedded couple.</p><p>Thomas found himself at the back of the group, helping Bates who had snuck his cane underneath a pew and needed help fishing it out. Anna was at his side, arm in arm with her husband. Johnny was now making a ruckus with George, the pair of them screeching and playing like heathens as the adults surged outside back into the snow and the cold.</p><p>At the far end, Thomas lingered behind, watching after the children.</p><p> </p><p>Unfortunately, this left Thomas alone in the church with Travis (save for a scattering few members of the congregation who were talking with their fellows). At the door, the pair of them looked out onto the blissfully wedded couple; a photographer had been drafted up from the village to take pictures. It was the same man that had been used for Andy and Daisy’s wedding.</p><p>“You know, this changes nothing,” Travis said. Thomas glanced at the man to find him resigned but bitter at his obvious defeat. “Their kindness will not ultimately save you from the fires of hell for your indulgence in sodomy.”</p><p> </p><p>And this was probably true.</p><p>“Have you ever read the <em>Divine Comedy</em>, Thomas?” Travis asked.</p><p>He did not answer, for in truth he had never read the book and had no desire to. The topic of hell was a sore one for him.</p><p>“You’ll soon find yourself at the bottom of the seventh circle of hell, if Dante is to be taken as an authority,” Travis simpered. “Made to run across fire laced sands for all of time. Dante gives great representation to the burning sand… it’s supposed to be a nod of the head to your sterility. Your inability to ever have children. I look forward to it.”</p><p>A sick cold knot was growing in the pit of his stomach, pressing up against the bottom of his lungs and making it harder to breath.</p><p> </p><p>“I myself was always more taken with <em>Purgatorio</em>,” Thomas jumped, turning around to find that Lord Grantham was breathing down Father Travis’ neck. The pair of them were startled clean out of their skins; how long had he been standing there.</p><p>“Lord Grantham,” Father Travis was dismayed. “I did not see you there, my child-“</p><p>“In <em>Purgatorio</em>, Dante also includes homosexuals on their way to paradise,” Lord Grantham continued on, using that lofty posh voice he so often put on when he wasn’t in the mood to be trifled with. Thomas’ cheeks burned pink with embarrassment. “Dante is quite clear that the only sexual activity punished in hell is promiscuity and immoderation. In <em>Purgatorio</em> he even states that homosexual love becomes lust and is sinful only if excessive or obsessive, just as avarice and gluttony result from too much love of material wealth or food.”</p><p>At this Lord Grantham gave Father Travis an acidic smile. “Isn’t religion fascinating.”</p><p>Father Travis had nothing to say at this, unnerved by Lord Grantham’s take on homosexuality when he was, to quote, the largest donor to his congregation.</p><p>“Thomas, I do believe you’re wanted outside for pictures,” Lord Grantham said.</p><p>“Certainly M’lord,” he flustered, following the man out of the church. They left behind Travis, who had a face of sour apple green. As soon as they were on the steps and back into the bright sunlight of winter, Thomas exhaled long and slow.</p><p>Lord Grantham was pulling his leather gloves back on to keep the biting sting of cold off his aging fingers.</p><p>“Thank you, M’lord,” Thomas said.</p><p>“Do not dwell on such matters, Thomas,” Was Lord Grantham’s advice. “We need you in top form today. There’s a vase worth two hundred pounds sitting in a public facility and I’m uncomfortable with it.”</p><p>And with that he walked off, leaving Thomas bemused on the steps of the church. From Moseley to Lord Grantham, it seemed that he was spoilt for choice.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Pictures took up an hour, giving the others plenty of time to get to the reception hall for lunch. It was a buffet spread, just like Daisy and Mrs. Hughes had insisted upon with their own weddings. It was pleasant, to take up plates and eat in long lines, each of them going back for seconds. The vase was a resounding hit, put next to the cake which would be served after lunch was concluded. Baxter was joyful, sitting between Thomas and Moseley. Anna was on Thomas’ other side, and so Thomas was swallowed up by merry chatter. It went on for a good few hours, no one eager to eat quickly. The food was a mixture of dishes from Mrs. Patmore and from the village, so all hands were complimenting the spread.</p><p>Mrs. Patmore was smug; she always enjoyed being praised for her cooking.</p><p>Of course, the real piece de resistance was Daisy’s cake. It was three tiers tall, made of raspberry and lemon, and had swirls of thistle surrounding each layer where it climaxed at the top in a tiny bouquet. Honestly, if the girl were to open up her own shop in the village, she’d make a fortune.</p><p> </p><p>As lunch concluded and mingling began, the tables were cleared away to make room for dancing and happiness. The cake was served on tiny china plates, with punch being passed out in glasses borrowed from the Grantham Arms. Now able to genuinely enjoy the fruits of his labor, Thomas ate a piece of cake (after giving one slice to George and Johnny for them to share) and shook hands with several members of the Moseley family.</p><p>They were all ugly as sin, but they loved one another deeply.</p><p> </p><p>Travis was on the outskirts, despite being the priest. Thomas noted that he spoke at length with both Lord Grantham and Carson; god only knows what he said. Unwilling to be a Spector, Thomas stood near the vase (as Lord Grantham had bade) and gave cake to children as they came up. He was suddenly the most popular man in the room, cake decorating the mouth of every babe.</p><p>Carson walked over, finally finished with Travis. He looked exhausted for whatever reason. A child nearly bumped into his trouser leg, carting off a piece of cake the size of their head. Carson watched them go, bemused.</p><p>“Rather generous with the cake, aren’t you?” Carson remarked. “They’ll be ill with sugar.”</p><p>Thomas shrugged; did it matter if they had a tummy ache? It was a wedding.</p><p> </p><p>“You did well today,” Carson remarked. It was a mild sort of comment, the kind that you made when you didn’t know what else to say.</p><p>He could attempt to make mild conversation back, or he could do what he wanted to do which was walk away. Thomas abandoned Carson, unable to endure another minute of the man’s company after the other night. He found himself in the care of Richard, who was holding two glasses of champagne punch. He offered one to Thomas, who accepted it at once.</p><p>“The priest decided to humiliate me with Dante’s Divine Comedy since he couldn’t do it with a walk down the aisle,” Thomas muttered. “Lord Grantham had to come to my rescue.”</p><p>“I heard,” Richard said. He took a healthy swig of punch, “You know what’s hysterical is that Dante was exiled in his own time.”</p><p>“Everyone’s a critic,” Thomas said. Richard smiled, but it didn’t necessarily meet his eyes. Neither of them were comfortable in a church.</p><p>“Cor all these weddings,” Richard wondered, “Makes you think about what you might do for your own.”</p><p>“Mmm…. Hide in the woods?”</p><p>“I was actually considering a secret rendezvous in a wine cellar.”</p><p>But that brought up memories of the pair of them entwined on the floor, kissing the pants off of one another with a bottle of wine to keep them company.</p><p>“… I think we know it’ll never happen for either of us,” Thomas mused. He gestured to the crowd. “Look at all this. The pomp and ceremony. You can’t possibly think that-“</p><p>But their conversation was cut short by the sound of speeches beginning.</p><p>“Pray silence for the best man!” Bates called out. The tip of his cake fork tickled the crystal of his champagne flute.</p><p>In the cramped reception hall, the guests all fell to a silence. Near the edge, Richard and Thomas put on their most benign expressions, unsure of what would come next. Best man speeches were a precarious business. They could be delightful; they could be heinous. The question was, what kind of public speaker was Bates?</p><p>“Boo,” Thomas muttered softly under his breath; Bates caught his eye and grinned. So it seemed he was in a good mood.</p><p>“If there is one great honor here tonight, it is my chance to sing the praises of Joseph Moseley,” Bates began. So far, he had Thomas’ agreement. “I have known Joseph for many years now both as a friend and a co-worker. He has always been kind, generous, and held a deep faith in the betterment of man. I was often astonished by those qualities and saw Joseph as a mirror of what I ought to be as a man.”</p><p>And now they were straying into the boundaries of boring.</p><p>“Joseph’s life was not always straight forward. From butler back to footman, his dreams had to go on the backburner several times. But he has pursued his goals and dreams with such zest that it left an impact on us all. Indeed, if Joseph had not become a teacher, I don’t think I would have ever dared to try and open my own pub.”</p><p>Thomas sighed, swirling his champagne in his glass. Boring.</p><p>“Joseph Moseley is a fine man, and an inspiration to us all.” Bates declared, “And that’s why this day of happiness is so important. Because finally, just desserts have been served! Finally, Joseph Moseley has had his moment in the sun.”</p><p>He raised his champagne glass; at once, everyone else did the same. Thomas and Richard mimicked the expression, both of them just eager for a drink. Joseph was beaming all over the place, giddy as he held the hand of his wife.</p><p>And then, like the exhausting fool that he was, Bates just kept on <em>talking. </em>So it seemed that he was to be the kind of speech maker that never knew when to shut up.</p><p>“When it comes to his new wife, Phyllis, I’m not particularly the best one to speak,” Bates said. “I suppose that’s why there were two best men on stage today. Myself for Joseph… and Thomas Barrow for Phyllis.”</p><p>A ripple went through the crowd, a few heads turning in Thomas’ direction.</p><p>Suddenly, his annoyance turned into terror. He looked at Bates, the pair of them locking eyes.</p><p>Thomas shook his head, minutely.</p><p><em>Don’t make me do it, </em>he warned.</p><p><em>Why not? </em>Bates’ eyes narrowed.</p><p><em>Look at where we are, </em>Thomas glanced in the direction of Travis, watching with a menacing ire Bates followed his gaze. When he found the father waiting to attack, Bates slowly looked back to Thomas.</p><p>And then, he continued speaking.</p><p>“If I can say anything from watching Phyllis’ interactions with Thomas, it is that she is a humble and gentle creature that only seeks to better those around her.”</p><p>And now, as Bates spoke, Thomas could only look at Phyllis. Could only keep her gaze and hold it as long as he dared.</p><p><em>I wish I could speak, </em>he pleaded with her. <em>I want to speak. </em></p><p>But she was still smiling.</p><p><em>I already know what you’d say, </em>she gave the tiniest nod of the head.</p><p>
  <em>How much I love you. </em>
</p><p><em>Yes, I know, </em>she smiled.</p><p>“She has a deep well of forgiveness within her,” Bates went on to say. “That she has used on everyone in the household including myself. But she also has this incredible strength that Thomas aligns with. It’s why they’re such close friends.”</p><p><em>You would have done this better, </em>the tiniest twitch of a smile at the corner of Phyllis’ painted lips.</p><p>Thomas shrugged, tilting his head in understanding.</p><p><em>Difficult crowd, </em>he caught her eye again. If the tiniest laugh betrayed her smile, he would never mention it to another soul.</p><p>“Thomas and Phyllis have a bond that is more akin to family than to coworkers. They were made from the same cloth. The past couple of months have been very sad for our family, I must confess…” Bates paused, a frown coming on. “We’ve lost a dear member, Mr. Mason. We’ve had to endure the company of wretched people we’d rather were not there.”</p><p>“Amen,” Thomas muttered nastily under his breath. Mrs. Hughes rolled her eyes, looking ready to pray for God’s intervention.</p><p>“We’ve been tested, I should think,” Bates said, and that was succinctly accurate. “But we’ve risen to the challenge because of people like Joseph and Phyllis. Don’t you think, Thomas?” Bates called out to him.</p><p>“I do indeed,” he answered without pause or fail, his voice loud in the room.</p><p>“And I know that in the future, we’re going to continue to look to them both as a beacon of light and truth, and that they will lead the way into the future with their own happiness. They will have a cottage of their dreams, children that are happy and healthy, and anything else that they desire. Because they have more than put in the hours. All raise glasses!” he commanded.</p><p>Richard and Thomas lifted their toasts high; the rim of each crystal goblet sparkled in the light of twenty burning bulbs, keeping the night outside at bay.</p><p>“To Joseph and Phyllis Moseley!” Bates toasted. “May your life be nothing but bliss!”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>And then, quite suddenly, everything kicked off.</p><p> </p><p>The sound of shattering glass broke the silence of the unfinished toast, and through a crowd of raised champagne flutes a chorus of flaming bottles suddenly fell upon the unsuspecting congregation. Cheap whiskey bottles with their labels ripped off fill to the brim were smashed upon the floor, each spreading a halo of hot white fire that immediately began to consume everything that it touched. For a split second, the crowd merely observed, taken aback by the sudden turn, and then-?</p><p>Then, sheer bloody panic.</p><p>Black smoke rose like a wave, choking out any air and smothering the screams. Children were grabbed from the floor by their parents.</p><p>Immediately Thomas’ eyes found George and Johnny, the pair of them separated from their parents and still eating cake upon the floor. A bottle had smashed near them, with the fire in danger of leaping to their clothes! They were screaming, both of them terrified as they tried to back away with nowhere to go.</p><p>Abandoning all sense of self perseveration, Thomas knocked Richard aside and dove for the two boys, grabbing them both up from the floor right as the flames reached their little black leather shoes. He found Anna first, terrified and grasping through the smoke for her child. Thomas shoved Johnny into her hands, pushing her towards the direction of the door.</p><p>“Go!” Thomas shouted over the din of screams “Get out of here, now!”</p><p>“George!” He could hear Mary crying out for her son; could see the crowd of villagers pushing her inadvertently towards the exit though she only thought of her son. Absolute anguish twisted her fine features into a nightmare.</p><p>Thomas struggled through the crowd; her eyes found him, suddenly alit with hope.</p><p>“Thomas!” She screamed, her arms open. He all but had to throw George to her, a wall of flame cutting him off from retreating himself.</p><p>“Run!” he ordered her. “Run while you can!”</p><p>And with that, he turned to begin battling every flame that he could see. Thomas grabbed the edge of the lace tablecloth, yanking it hard so that food and silverware crashed to the floor. Mindless of the carnage, he dropped to his knees to begin trying to smother the flames.</p><p>But they wouldn’t go out.</p><p>A sticky black substance, eerily similar to oil, was leaking from the mouth of a broken whiskey bottle. Thomas snatched it up, rubbing it upon his fingers; whatever this was, it wasn’t normal.</p><p>Phyllis and Moseley were both caught in the fray; one of the bottles had smashed near her dress, setting the fringe of it alight. Knowing it would do little good to smother it, Thomas dove for her and grabbing her flaming trail with both hands to rip it clean off the bottom of her dress. The smoldering fabric fell away, leaving her ankles exposed but saving her from burns.</p><p>“It won’t go out!” Moseley shouted over the din; he was desperately trying to stamp a flame out with his foot.</p><p>“This isn’t petrol, it’s something else-! Richard!” Thomas called out for his lover, who was likewise trying to squash flames with a small entrance rug. It wasn’t working.</p><p>“It’s Coyle!” Phyllis despaired.</p><p>There was only one door, only one exit, and everyone was cramming through in their desperation to get out of the burning wreckage before they were suffocated or scorched alive.</p><p>“Joseph, take her and run!” She was the primary target; it could not be denied. “Get her to the house!” Behind locked doors and concrete walls over three hundred years old, even Coyle would not be able to harm her.</p><p>“Right-“ Joseph grabbed her tight by the hand, pulling her away from the chaos. Bates passed next, hobbling as fast as he could upon a cane that was essentially a tinderbox.</p><p>“Thomas, I can’t stay here! It’ll kill me, I’m too slow!” Bates shouted.</p><p>“Go! Go!” one less man wouldn’t matter when they were facing a flame that could not be put out. Thomas ran through the fire back to the once ornate punch bowl table.</p><p>“Richard help me!” He cried out. Richard stumbled through the carnage and grabbed the other side of the punch bowl. Together the pair of them lifted the enormous bucket and dumped it unceremoniously onto the floor where Branson, Carson, Andy, and Lord Grantham were all trying to stop the flames. Talbot had grabbed a candelabra and was now using it to beat out a window to give what stragglers remained another escape route. The door was quickly becoming cut off, fires licking at every inch of the frame.</p><p>AS the punch crashed in a wave of peach onto the floor, a shocking reaction occurred. Instead of squashing the fires, the water and juice seemed to act as an accelerant. The fire actually rode atop it like a wave, the oil keeping it afloat. Thomas was horrified as even more of the reception hall went up in flames. Could it be that there was no way to stop it?</p><p>“What this hell is this?!” He cried out to his fellows.</p><p>“It’s not natural-!” Richard cast the now empty punch bowl aside, holding Thomas close lest he too catch on fire. “It’s-!” But whatever he was about to say was dissolved into a wave of coughing.</p><p>But their answer came, peculiarly enough, from Branson. At the sight of the fire floating atop the punch, he gasped and declared to his father in law, “I’ve seen this before in Ireland! It’s devil fire!”</p><p>Thomas didn’t care what it was called. Either it was put out, or the reception hall would cave in. He tried to stamp on a pod of fire as it floated past, only to be reprimanded by Branson.</p><p>“Thomas, don’t try and put it out!” Branson shouted, “It’s made of fat and Sulphur, normal methods won’t work! We have to run! It’s too late!”</p><p>“Come on, let’s get out of here!” Shouted Talbot from the door. He alone was keeping it open, batting at flames with sooty hands.</p><p>Richard grabbed him tight by the hand and ran, the pair of them bringing up the rear as Lord Grantham and Branson lead the charge. Andy tripped over a broken chair, only to be helped up by Carson who pulled him along.</p><p>“We will not die today, Andrew!” Thomas heard the man say.</p><p>As their group burst through the door out into the cold night air, Thomas gasped for oxygen, his face stained with soot and sweat. Behind them, the reception hall began to cave in, its ancient roof unable to withstand the sweltering heat. Timber beams the size of a grown man’s torso cracked and fell, the cascading roar deafening Thomas as Richard pulled him away. His skin was stinging, like he’d spent too much time out in the sun and had gotten a rash.</p><p>There, on the steps, he found Baxter and Moseley. They hadn’t run- but why-?</p><p>But even as Thomas looked up, searching for a wagonette or a motorcar to serve as their line of safety, he was shocked to see even more fire. It seemed that the carnage inside was nothing compared to the outside, where a solid wave of fire now cut off what remained of the wedding guests from their only path to safety.</p><p>“We can’t get through!” Baxter cried out. “It’s a trap!”</p><p>But if this were a trap, where was Coyle? Squinting through the flames, Thomas looked left and right, trying to find anybody in the dark that was not a friend. But bodies were indistinguishable, the smoke and the night sky made it impossible to tell who was on their side or not. All around them, plaintive screams of terror were choking out any noises of help or aid. He could not tell what direction they were facing, or where any of the other staff members were. Suddenly, it was only Thomas, Baxter, Richard, and Moseley, the four of them lost from the crowd.</p><p>“Come on!” Thomas grabbed Baxter’s hand tight in his own; his grip was slippery with sweat. Going off of memory alone, Thomas tried to forge a path as best he could down the main path of the reception hall. He knew for a fact that at some point, the trail went right and into a large open park where finely manicured trees kept company with the monolith that had been erected for the Great War. If they could just get to the park, they could get to the motorcars.</p><p>But every step they took was riddled with flame and finding direction in the haze of smoke was almost impossible. Every shadow that leapt out of them from the night was a trespasser. Every tree limb that suddenly came into sight was the arm of Coyle-</p><p> </p><p>Baxter’s petrified scream deafened Thomas, causing his ears to momentarily begin ringing.</p><p>He whipped about, but it was too slow to duck from the blow that came from behind.</p><p> </p><p>A swing of what might have been a cricket bat caught Thomas under the chin, with such force that it resulted in him being knocked clean off his feet. His body peeled backward in an arch before crashing into the scorched earth of the church yard. He rolled down a slight slope before landing face up; stars danced in front of his vision; his brain befuddled by the chaos.</p><p> </p><p><em>Boy that sure was exhausting, </em>he thought mildly.</p><p> </p><p>“Thomas!” He could hear voices screaming his name. Baxter, Moseley, and Richard-!</p><p>He rolled, staggering woozily to his feet.  For a moment, he was so punch-drunk that he couldn’t fathom what had happened. Then, like a demon from hell, a dark shape with outstretched hands appeared in between the flames. This was all the warning got before he was suddenly attacked by Peter Coyle.</p><p>Coyle was mad to look at, with wild blue eyes akin to a creature trapped in a corner and sweaty black hair plastered all over his sunken face. He acted without finesse. He fought without morals. He punched, kicked, bit, and tore at every inch of Thomas that he could reach. Thomas’ boutonniere was eviscerated, his ascot and vest torn to shreds. But for as good as he got, Thomas gave back. Mindless to the pain in his deformed hand, he grabbed Coyle by the scruff of the neck and began to punch the living daylights out of him. They were fighting like cats and dogs, and it might have gone on forever had Thomas not heard the sounds of Baxter screaming at the top of her lungs.</p><p>He glanced to the left, just for the tiniest moment, and saw her being drug bodily away from the crumpled form of Moseley. The man had her by the hair, her crown of thistles broken upon the scorched ground. He couldn’t even see Richard.</p><p>Knowing full well what would happen to Baxter if she were taken, Thomas wrenched himself away from Coyle and began to try and gain ground towards her.</p><p>“Phyllis-!” But before he could get even three steps, a sharp stinging blow caught him on his left ear.</p><p>Stars burst before his eyes; if he’d been in his right mind, he might have noticed the shadow of a broken bottle rolling away down the hillside towards a wall of fire. Coyle had gotten creative and used a projectile to slow him down.</p><p>Seizing his chance, Coyle grabbed Thomas from behind and pressed the sharp edge of a blade to his neck. At first, he wondered if this was how it would end, with his blood spilling in front of the blazing grounds of a destroyed chapel. Instead, it seemed that Coyle wanted to hold him hostage. Both he and Baxter were now good and stuck, the pair of them unable to escape their respective captors.</p><p>Coyle twisted Thomas hard by the back of the hair, forcing him to look up into his face.</p><p>For a moment, the pair of them breathed haggardly, exhausted by their foray. In the background, a symphony from hell was playing without cease: the crackling of fire eating at ancient architecture, the screams of children and guests begging for water or help, the shouts of names as people tried to find their significant others, and above all the resounding chorus of Downton residents shouting for Thomas and his friends.</p><p>“… So what now, Peter?” Thomas asked.</p><p>“Now you have my full attention,” Coyle said. And with that, he head-butted Thomas as hard as he could.</p><p> </p><p>It knocked him clean out.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. The Darkest Hour</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Thomas Barrow and Phyllis Moseley come face to face with Peter Coyle, and must make several difficult decisions.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As we come to a close on this piece of shit year, I hope that this chapter offers you some entertainment. Originally, it was to extend even further, but when I reached 43 pages, I felt that it was getting too long, so I'm just going to move the rest of the content to the next chapter. This chapter is going to be very dark and macabre, with trigger warnings for <b>abduction, violence, gore, usage of guns and knives, murder, mentions of medical abuse, and foul language</b>. Whatever you celebrate, and however you celebrate it, I wish each and every one of you a warm and cozy December. </p><p>We will get through these dark times. We will endure and recover.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Panic rolled like mustard gas through the once calm library of Downton Abbey, but it had not started there. It had started when Richard had come to with a throbbing headache on a charred field, groggily staring up at a smoky night sky which was flooded with light and sirens from the Downton Fire Department. He’d rolled onto his side, coughed up a lung, and had observed in a daze Joseph Moseley being brought to his senses by his father.</p><p>Their respective partners had been no where to be seen.</p><p>A search party had been formed, of village men and police intertwined. They’d combed the forests and the fields, screaming Thomas and Baxter’s names. The only sign of abduction had been Thomas’ boutonniere, which had been found bloodied and discarded by a hunting dog just off a beaten forest path.</p><p>For two hours, they’d searched, only to be called back to a center of safety inside Downton Abbey. There was no sign of Coyle, no way of knowing which direction he’d gone off to in the smoke. Joseph Moseley was like a rabid dog, biting at any answer he could get. He wanted to search, to claw back the earth of England itself till he found his wife. He’d simply stood there and screamed for a while, crying out Baxter’s name praying that he might hear something, anything back.</p><p>All they’d heard had been the dull dwindling crackle of the now destroyed reception hall.</p><p> </p><p>It was past midnight. In the library of Downton Abbey, both servants and family were clustered alike, nursing wounds and comforting the bereaved. The Downton police were using one of the family’s tables to spread out maps of the county, each of them with an opinion on where Coyle could have gone. Richard did not know where to stand, or what to do. He paced before the fireplace, stuck between Lady Mary and Mr. Talbot who were in shock, and Joseph Moseley who wept into his hands while his father supported him.</p><p>The family were in a peculiar position. They were concerned for Baxter and Thomas, most certainly. Lady Grantham was distraught at the idea of her favorite maid being in danger. Lord Grantham was worried for the fate of his butler, even if he wasn’t too fond of him. But none of them were truly wound up in this near as much as their staff. They couldn’t be fed dinner, dressed for bed, or tucked in till their staff was soothed. Lord Grantham kept talking to Bates and Carson, trying to get each of their opinions as to what was going on. But no one had any answers anymore.</p><p> </p><p>“We’ve just covered the northern section of the county, it’s barren. No signs, nothing!” The policeman swept his hand aggressively over a patch of covered wood.</p><p>“But we saw them take him in that direction!” The second interjected.</p><p>“So they doubled back around when the smoke was clear-“</p><p>“To where, the village? Don’t be ridiculous, they’d have been spotted in an instant-“</p><p>“Well, they’re not in the woods!” And the arguments were starting afresh, with each policeman trying to talk over the other.</p><p>Richard wanted to scream. To grab each of them and strangle them individually till the blood drained from their brains. He paced rapidly; his hands stuffed into his armpits to keep from wringing their necks.</p><p>The sound of harried voices caught his attention. The arguments were turning into please, with the arrival of a new policeman who was distinctly older and smartly dressed. He looked quite annoyed.</p><p>“It’s the chief!” One policeman declared. Richard, who knew nothing about what the ranks of policemen were, could surmise that this man was above all the others from the way they groveled to him and tried to get answers. He was irked, bushy eyebrows quizzical as he shook hands with Lord Grantham and observed the map his men had plopped in the table.</p><p>“Lord Grantham, Lieutenant Colonel John Chaytor, DSO” Chaytor introduced himself. “Forgive the delay. I was needed in York for a court case. Inspector Willas,” He tipped his head to their local man. “What’s the state of affairs?”</p><p>“Two separate crimes,” it was remarkable to watch how the policemen all filed into rank, with the others going dead quiet lest they offend the two upper men. Willas was the head of police in Grantham, but Chaytor was clearly the boss of him, thus making him God in the eyes of the lesser men. “Firstly, a wedding reception was crashed by a group of masked men who were throwing these.”</p><p>Willas plucked up the offending bottle and offered it to Chaytor who examined it with gloved hands.</p><p>“Greek fire,” Chaytor was a man of the world. “I’ve seen it in the Baor war, and in Ireland. Difficult to put out once it gets going, not made with petrol. Did Coyle appear?”</p><p>“He did, that’s when the kidnappings occurred.”</p><p>Chaytor did not look surprised, sucking on his teeth irritably as he observed the map. He drummed his fingers on the table thinking.</p><p>For every second that Chaytor did not offer a solution, Richard wanted to shoot him. They were wasting precious seconds, every minute that ticked by was a minute that could have been Thomas’ last.</p><p>Slowly, Chaytor looked over to Moseley, who was still weeping into his hands. He took a seat by Moseley’s side, pulling up a cushioned ottoman so that they could speak eye to eye.</p><p>“Are you Mr. Joseph Moseley?” Chaytor asked. Shuddering, he looked up with swollen bloodshot eyes. Never in his life had Richard felt sorrier for a man.</p><p>“I am, sir,” he croaked.</p><p>“Mr. Moseley, I am the head of his majesties police forces in North Yorkshire,” Chaytor said. “I am the presiding law in this county, and it has been placed as my task by his majesty to bring Coyle to justice personally. I intend to do so if you will help me.” Chaytor paused, knowing the weight of his words. “Will you tell me what happened this evening at your wedding reception?”</p><p>Moseley sniffed; his nostrils clogged from so many hours spent crying. He had to wipe his face on a damp handkerchief.</p><p>“… We were… toasting,” He recalled, his voice soft. “And then the fires began. It happened so quickly I could not even…” he faded off into silence, then began again. “We ran outside. I… Thomas—Mr. Barrow—he was leading us somewhere, I think to the park, and… this… figure came out of the smoke. He had a cudgel, and he hit Thomas and he… he flew back so hard, I thought him done for. God help me.”</p><p>It had been with this same bat that Richard himself had been knocked askew. It had felt like the hand of God plucking him from the earth.</p><p>“I… I saw Mr. Ellis get hit… Thomas got up; it was Coyle. He—they fought… we were all plagued by criminals. All of us were being beaten to the ground. Thomas, Mr. Ellis… me… my Phyllis.” And her name seemed to wound him terribly.</p><p>“They took her,” He choked out, fresh tears brimming in his eyes. “And I was powerless. Too weak to stop them. Too little of a man to save my wife- “</p><p>“Mr. Moseley, I know what it is to be bested by a criminal,” Chaytor assured him. “I know how it feels, to be well aware that your loved ones have suffered for your mistakes. So please listen to me when I say that Coyle doesn’t take prisoners. It’s never been in his wheelhouse to care about people in that way. He was always going to try and take your wife. He has unfinished business with her, and I don’t necessarily think it’s murder.”</p><p>“But then he took Thomas too,” Moseley said. “Why do a thing like that if he only wanted her?”</p><p>But Richard knew damn well why. He’d seen how Thomas had protected Phyllis undyingly. How he’d kept her safe from Coyle’s grasp, even while O’Brien had tried to tear them apart. Thomas had been her resolute shield.</p><p>“…Because Thomas loves Phyllis,” Richard could not keep the loathing out of his voice; who was this anger meant for? Coyle? Chaytor? Or was it to himself?</p><p>“He’s her protector,” He turned on them all, a hand braced upon the fireplace which burned low and slow. “Coyle is trying to scare her. He’s salting the meat before he eats it.”</p><p>He dropped a hand, stone scraping against skin. It was ill advised of him to speak so openly before the family and the police, but Richard could no longer control his mouth.  </p><p>“You know, think Thomas was even getting in his way,” Richard mused to them all. “Really making his time difficult as he tried to frighten her. So, he took them both.”</p><p>“I see,” Chaytor rose up from the ottoman, now speaking to the room at large though he looked at Richard.</p><p>“Well, I won’t paint an easier picture, for any of you,” He declared. “The chances of them both returning alive are slim to none… and if we do get them back, they probably won’t be in one piece. Coyle is a psychopath, and he plays with his food. We stand a chance with Mrs. Moseley. He’s got a vendetta to fulfill. Barrow?” Chaytor shook his head. “Barrow is dead. Expect nothing but a body if that.”</p><p>The noise that came out of him was spontaneous; a mixture between that of a trod-on cat and a furious man. The silence which followed was damning, a clear note that the others were confused as to why he was so concerned about a man’s demise who frankly ought to be just his co-worker.</p><p>Lord Grantham’s eyes were narrowing, putting two and two together and getting four.</p><p>He left the library, unable to contain himself. The more he stood there, unable to deny his misery and unable to help Thomas, the more certain he felt that he might cry. The last time he’d shed tears had been years ago, when his life had been upturned by a terrible breakup. Back in those days, Richard had thought he’d known what hopelessness was. Now, knowing full well that Thomas was probably suffering unbelievable agony, Richard finally knew what defeat tasted like.</p><p>He was weak and worthless. He had nothing to offer to produce a solution.</p><p>In the servant’s stairwell, Richard’s quaking knees finally gave out. He slumped to the ground, the bite of the stairs numb against his backside. His head was still aching from where he’d been hit by the cudgel.</p><p>He tried to hold it in at first, rocking back and forth. He tried to tell himself that there was a chance, no matter how slim. But his misery was more powerful than his hope. Something in the way Chaytor had wrote off Thomas’ life… like he was inconsequential.</p><p>Like they’d already given him up for dead.</p><p>When the door to the servant’s stairwell opened, Richard did not look up. He had no energy left to care if someone saw him weep. It would look suspicious, he understood that implicitly, but he was tired and scared out of his mind.</p><p>And yet, a gentle hand came upon his shoulder. A body was pressed to his own, thigh to thigh with him on the narrow stairs.</p><p>Joseph Moseley kept him solid company, the pair of them just as scared stiff as the other.</p><p>“He’ll come back,” Moseley whispered. “They’ll both come back.”</p><p>But Richard didn’t know if he believed him or not.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The first thing that Thomas saw, and understood, was the darkness above him solidifying into a beautiful swirl of black rock. There was light somewhere in the room which he’d been placed, but his head was upturned, and so the first thing he saw was the ceiling instead of the light. There was something glassy about the ceiling, like it had been carved out with a sharp tool. Was it obsidian? Was it coal?</p><p> </p><p>And if the ceiling was made of coal… then, where was he?</p><p> </p><p>Slowly, his neck aching from the strain, Thomas rolled his head back and forth. His eyes fluttered closed, the vertebra in his neck strained from the exhausted position. He heard a bone pop and felt a tiny bit of relief.</p><p>The front of his head, where Coyle had headbutted him, ached. He’d probably have a welt or at least a bruise come morning. As for now, it was impossible to know what time it was, or where he was. With eyes slowly adjusting to the gloom, his earlier assumption of coal was confirmed. The walls, the ground… everything seemed to be made of one mass of solid black rock.</p><p><em>Where in the hell am I? </em>he wondered.</p><p>The light turned out to be from two candlesticks which were sitting upon a carved piece of wall. The wax had pooled at the base, creating a natural glue to hold the sticks up straight. It wasn’t much to go off of, but it gave Thomas just enough light to reveal his companion.</p><p>And then, everything began to slide into place.</p><p>He wasn’t sitting on the ground; he was sitting a wooden chair, something you’d find slid beneath a poor man’s table. He was tied to it, ankles bound to the legs and torso to the spine. He’d been in this position long enough to go slightly numb, his morning suit ruined from the trip to wherever he was. There was blood on his pants leg, but he couldn’t tell if it was his own or someone else’s.</p><p> </p><p>In front of him, bound to her own chair, was Phyllis.</p><p>She was terrified, eyes wide and skin slick with sweat. Her wedding dress was filthy, covered in smoke, mud, and blood. Her hair was ruined, the finger wave that Anna had so painstakingly put in now turned into something mucky and tussled. Her thistle crown was gone. She too was tied, much in the same way that Thomas was. But her eyes, which ought to have been on him, were somewhere behind him. She was looking up, focused on something he could not see from his position.</p><p>“Phyllis,” He croaked out her name, his throat hoarse from the fire.</p><p>But she was not the first to respond. A shadow moved along the wall, thrown into light by the candlesticks; it revealed a third figure, as menacing and sleek as a panther on the jungle floor.</p><p>Peter Coyle was a peculiar man in that he did not convey emotion where most would. Whatever this moment ought to have brought him, be it joy or rage, he conveyed neither. Instead, his face was as blank as an unpainted canvas. His clothes, however, were bloodied and torn much like Thomas’. They told the story that Coyle’s face would not.</p><p>They stared at one another; a rabbit caught in a hunter’s trap. Thomas knew in that moment, that he was either going to experience intense pain or die… Possibly even both. Coyle did not take prisoners, not without reason, but he’d targeted Thomas when they’d run from the fire. It was clear that his meddling with O’Brien had gotten Coyle’s attention.  Now, he would pay the price.</p><p>“…I like you,” Coyle said. Thomas wasn’t prone to believe him. “You know? I actually like you quite a lot. I like your style. I like the way you run amuck,” and it shocked him how very calm Coyle was. This was a man who was supposed to exhibit murderous rage. Where was it?</p><p>“I like to run amuck too,” Peter said. “I do it as often as I can. And that isn’t often enough.”</p><p>He supposed he could focus on Coyle and banter with him, but there was no point. This man was so out of his mind that any conversation they might have would be wasted. Instead, Thomas looked to Phyllis, who’d been awake before him. What had she seen? What had they said? Did she know where they were?</p><p>“Are you hurt?” He croaked.</p><p>Her teeth clattered as she replied, either from fear or cold, “Thomas—he’s got us—”</p><p>“S’fine-“ and it was most certainly not fine, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he could not allow her to panic. “We will get out of this. Look at me.” She did not look at him, too captivated by Coyle. So he shouted at her, “Look at me!”</p><p>She glanced; he held her gaze, trying to pour into that moment all the courage he possessed. He did not know where his breaking point was, but he had a feeling he was about to find out.</p><p>“I’m gonna lift the car,” he said. It was a statement that would make no sense to Coyle. “Just keep your faith in me an’ I’ll lift the car-“</p><p>“You can’t!” She cut across, tears now beginning to leak from the corner of her lined eyes. It caused her mascara to run, creating too dark tracks on her cheeks. “I told you before, why didn’t you listen to me?!”</p><p>And he probably should have listened to her, because now they were good and properly fucked.</p><p>“Yes, I can!” He said; he felt a bit like a toddler throwing a tantrum over the inevitable.</p><p>Unamused by being ignored, Coyle pushed his way forward and took Thomas hard by the chin to force him to look up. They now stared at one another, with the glare from the candles allowing Thomas to see deep into Coyle’s bright blue eyes.</p><p>They were so similar to his own, so deep in color and thought, but they were completely and utterly devoid of humanity. They were like the eyes of a doll, made of glass and incapable of truly seeing. Reflected in their surface, Thomas saw his own bloodied and beaten face.</p><p>Coyle tilted his chin back and forth, like he was searching for something too. Whatever it was, he didn’t find it.</p><p>“They say your lot look different,” Coyle mused. “But you don’t look different to me.”</p><p>At this, he sought a second opinion. Looking over his shoulder, he called out to the shadows behind Baxter’s chair. Despite the candlelight, Thomas could not see that far into the gloom. Twenty people could have been watching there, and he’d have been unaware.</p><p>“He look different to you?” Coyle asked the darkness.</p><p>A shape shifted in the black, slowly solidifying as it walked forwards into the light of the candle.</p><p>O’Brien wore a coat of olive green over a day dress. Judging by her boots and her scarf, she’d been walking for a while in the cold. Baxter could not see her; she was too far behind her chair.</p><p>“Bit womanly,” O’Brien said. “… Just a bit though.”</p><p>Phyllis jerked around, unable to really get a good look at O’Brien but knowing the voice well enough. When she finally walked around, Phyllis shuddered at the sight of her.</p><p>“You…” There was no fear in her voice, only loathing. The final piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. She now knew what Thomas had never wanted to reveal.</p><p>Instead of addressing Phyllis, O’Brien looked to Thomas bemused.</p><p>“You didn’t tell her?” She asked.</p><p>Now Phyllis was the one gaping at him.</p><p>“My god, I thought for certain you would have at least told her after the other night,” O’Brien wondered. She tutted, disapprovingly.</p><p>“I didn’t want her to be scared,” Thomas said. There was no point in lying anymore.</p><p>“That worked out well.” She muttered.</p><p>“Oh, shut the fuck up you miserable whore!” The slur of vicious words tumbled from Thomas’ mouth; it felt cathartic and good to curse her, to put her lower than filth even if only by speech. But actions had consequences, and with Thomas tied up on a chair O’Brien could do whatever she pleased with him. Her solution was to pull a gun out and pistol whip him as hard as she could about the face.</p><p>It was, quite frankly, a sharp hit. He’d not expected her to be capable of such things, and the blow stung more than his skin. She hit him again, just to get her point completely across.</p><p>Instead of learning his lesson, Thomas just kept plundering the hole deeper. He’d always been this way, even in childhood when it had been his father to take a temper. He didn’t know when to quit.</p><p>“Is this supposed to frighten me, Sarah?” He sneered. “Because it’s boring me and that’s unforgivable. You can hardly throw a punch-“</p><p>Coyle looked back and forth between the pair of them; if he’d been a normal man, he might have been mildly amused. O’Brien, livid at Thomas’ tongue, reared back her hand again to pistol whip him a third time. But even as she brought her hand down and Thomas braced himself for the stinging impact, a sudden sharp sound from beyond their chamber brought everyone to a pause.</p><p>For a moment, Thomas almost thought he’d hallucinated it out of stress. It had sounded like a scuffle; like a muffled shout and a bang all mixed into one. Then, other yells started coming up, and O’Brien dropped her hand to look at Coyle. They were staring at one another, annoyed by the intrusion.</p><p>She let out a long-suffering sigh. Coyle was a shark smelling blood and pushed past her to leave their company. It was only then that Thomas saw the door to their cell had been built into the wall rather crudely. This place was not meant to be a room; the men had simply turned it into one to fit their nefarious needs.</p><p>For a moment, O’Brien seemed to consider staying behind and having her wicked way. But then, an explosion took root upstairs, and she froze like a deer.</p><p>She looked back at the door where Coyle had vanished and ran for it with her gun out. It banged shut behind her, leaving Thomas and Phyllis alone. They could now hear more muffled shouting and screams, but it was inconsequential to the pair of them. Even if someone were trying to help them, they’d never be found down in the dark until they were free to move.</p><p>Thomas struggled with his bonds, wrestling with his arms behind his back.</p><p>“Come on… come on-!” He hissed, straining until he was certain the fragile bones in his hand would snap like twigs. Across from him, Phyllis began to weep with soft shuddering breathes. But she wasn’t scared; she was angry.</p><p>“Hey… Hey!” He urged her to look at him again, even as he wrestled. “Phyllis look at me!”</p><p>But she wouldn’t. Her face was turned away to keep him from seeing her cry.</p><p>“Phyllis, I told you, I can beat him!”</p><p>“You can’t,” She groaned; finally, she looked at him, her face shining with puffy cheeks and swollen eyes. “Look at us, Thomas. We’re finished. We’re as good as dead. All three of us.”</p><p>And with a deep pang somewhere in the bottom of his stomach, Thomas realized once again that Phyllis was pregnant. That if someone were to punch or shoot her in the stomach, her baby would be lost.</p><p>It was inconceivable. Too horrible to even imagine.</p><p>“No we’re not,” He would not even contemplate it. “Not yet, not by a long shot-“</p><p>“Why didn’t you tell me it was her?!” She demanded, cutting him off in her age. It made him feel queasy, to know she was angry with him in what might very well be their final moments.</p><p>“I didn’t want to frighten you,” and damn him if it wasn’t the truth.</p><p>“Oh well done there-!” She huffed. And to be fair, he’d cocked it all up.</p><p>“Moseley knows too,” Thomas said. Phyllis whipped her head around, horrified at him.</p><p>“No!” She declared.</p><p>“Yeah-“ he winced from the strain of pulling at his wrists. “We were working on getting her out, the pair of us. Said she’d got to the police and tell them I was gay if I ratted her position out. Worst of all, she knows about others.”</p><p>“Richard Ellis,” There would be no hiding from her.</p><p>“Right.” He was close to knocking his chair over, grunting and sweating as he strained. Who the hell had tied these knots? A member of the navy?</p><p><br/>So that’s why she’s been so nasty to you?” Now they were both rocking about, trying to break free. It was nice, to distract themselves from the inevitable.</p><p>“Now you’ve got the picture of it.”</p><p>“She was the agent. She’s the one who told Coyle I’m pregnant.”</p><p>“Yep.”</p><p>“And the letter?”</p><p>“Yep.”</p><p>“And Mr. Mason?”</p><p>“Yep!”</p><p>He stopped straining for the moment, the pair of them gasping for a moment as they realized just how tight their binds were.</p><p>Brooding in her ruined wedding dress, Phyllis narrowed her eyes, “Fucking bitch.” He’d never heard her curse before.</p><p>Something was shifting in her. Something was beginning to fill back up that well of inner strength which Thomas had always known she’d possessed. For some reason, the news of O’Brien’s treachery was like fuel to a lantern and now consumed her.</p><p>It was by unfortunate coincidence that, at this very moment of outrageous emotion, O’Brien returned. She came into the room, positively fuming over something or the other. There was a singe mark on her cheek, and a slight tremor in her fingers.</p><p>Something had happened beyond their room, but what? Did someone know they were here, and was trying to save them? Thomas’ stomach twisted at the thought of a friend being hurt for his sake.</p><p>What if it was Richard?</p><p>He swallowed around a knot in his throat but was determined to keep calm. O’Brien was focused on him, positively ignoring Phyllis which was for the best considering she was glaring daggers at her back.</p><p>“You look singed,” Thomas said. “You need to cut back.”</p><p>O’Brien reached up and touched where the singe mark was on her cheek. She rubbed at the soot, wiping it away. “Not me,” she said.</p><p>“Company already?” He said. “Shame, I thought we’d have more time.”</p><p>“No… Not like that,” O’Brien pocketed her gun, still rubbing at her cheek to try and rid herself of the smudge. “Bit of a difference of opinion in the ranks.”</p><p>So, it seemed that it was not Richard or another friend; it was just criminals being criminals. Thomas had to wonder if Christopher was caught up in it all. Did he know Thomas was down here?</p><p>“Well, what can you do,” his fake sincerity was practically acidic. But O’Brien wasn’t bothered.</p><p>“Me?” She dared, “Oh I don’t care about any of it. I only care about Cora.”</p><p>He scoffed, not believing a word of it. There might have been a time when she’d cared about Lady Grantham, but her shifting priorities muddled it all with the past.</p><p>“What a load of shit,” He sneered. “You don’t actually care about her.”</p><p>“I shouldn’t speak about what I don’t understand,” she warned. Despite his dire situation, Thomas could not muster a damn to give.</p><p>“Then you better keep your mouth shut,” Thomas joked. O’Brien looked ready to clock him over the face with her gun again.</p><p>Their bitter reunion was cut short by the door being kicked in; Phyllis craned her neck around, trying to see who had come in.</p><p>It was Coyle, and he wasn’t alone. Behind him he dragged a man who looked filthy, his clothes, face, and hair tarnished by soot. For a moment, Thomas could not tell who the man was. Then, Coyle flung the man hard onto the ground before Thomas, and the bleak candlelight finally shone features onto his prominent face.</p><p>A pencil thin mustache-</p><p>“Christopher!” He cried out. About a second after uttering his name, Thomas realized it was probably not a smart idea to openly proclaim that he was allies with a man that Coyle had been relying upon. But it seemed the jig was already up, because Coyle had drug Christopher in like a stray dog and he had a black eye.</p><p>“Who in the hell is this?” Phyllis demanded.</p><p>“Chris Webster,” He lamented.</p><p>“Ah, the whiskey peddler,” she said.</p><p>“Hey Petal,” Christopher managed to get out through a mouthful of blood. He hocked and spat at Coyle’s feet, clearing his throat. It was both disgusting, and mildly impressive.</p><p>But neither Thomas nor Phyllis would get the opportunity to have a long chat with Christopher; Coyle still had a bone to pick, and he wasn’t fussy about who saw him shout and scream.</p><p>“You know, I really hate loose ends,” He seethed, “Always get in my way!” and at this he launched several well aimed kicks at Christopher’s stomach. Christopher coughed again, wheezing from the abuse. It was terrible to watch, knowing that he was utterly powerless to stop his friend from getting hurt.</p><p>“We had a good deal, you and I,” Coyle complained. “I let you live, you give me whiskey. Why did you have to go and fuck it up?!”</p><p>And Christopher, with his back against Thomas’ bound legs, finally wheezed out through a trickle of blood going down his pointed chin.</p><p>“…Because I love him,” he said. Thomas’ heart panged in distress; across from him, even Phyllis looked touched.</p><p>O’Brien’s eyes were narrowed in suspicion.</p><p>“I told you to stay out of my way,” Coyle said. “I told you to leave the plan to me. But now you’ve gone and gotten stupid; what a shame. You could have been so useful to me-“</p><p>“Christopher, are you okay?” He couldn’t hold it in anymore, even if he got pistol whipped across the face again. In response to Thomas, Christopher staggered up to his feet and wiped the blood from his chin. He was still a little hunched over, clearly in pain from the abuse to his abdomen.</p><p>“Fine, fine-“ he wheezed, before finally grimacing and straightening all the way up. “All good,” He even gave Thomas a thumbs up.</p><p>Coyle tutted, rubbing at his forehead, “I knew you were lying yesterday. And now I know what the lie was. He’s not some bloke you met for a drink, he’s your sweetheart. Human emotion always exhausts me.”</p><p>“He’s not his sweetheart,” O’Brien corrected. Coyle looked over his shoulder, confused.</p><p>“Barrow’s with someone else,” O’Brien explained. “So, whatever he is, they’re not sweethearts.”</p><p>Coyle looked back around at Christopher, and for the very first time, confusion was evident on his face. Phyllis was looking from Thomas to Christopher, her eyes as wide as saucers. The love exploits of gay men were hardly things to discuss in public, even with friends. Now she was getting a front row view of Thomas’ dirty laundry and he couldn’t be more humiliated about it.</p><p>“Bit of a triangle situation,” Christopher explained. “I love him, he loves me, but he also loves this other prick I’m trying to get rid of. I won’t bore you with the details,” And he waved a hand in the air.</p><p>“You mean to tell me you’re not even properly fucking him, and you did all this for him?” Coyle demanded.</p><p>“I killed seven men for him,” Christopher said.</p><p>“All this time?” Coyle was getting angrier, furious at loyalties being threatened, “Have you been running a thread to him this whole fucking time? Have you been the one feeding him information?”</p><p>“Oh yeah,” no need to waterboard Christopher, he’d confess everything without a hint of remorse.</p><p>Coyle sneered, reared back a hand, and tried to punch Christopher full in the face. He dodged to the left, missing the blow, and now the pair of them were locked arm in arm, struggling for the upper hand. As they tussled, the continued to speak.</p><p>“You thieving rat!” Coyle was grinning like a madman, “I like your style!”</p><p>“Hey, we had an agreement,” Christopher warned, voice warbling from the struggle. “I gave you whiskey cause you got me out, but that never meant I was your man!”</p><p>“Why because I wouldn’t let you fuck me in the ass?” Coyle demanded.</p><p>Christopher hocked a loogie and spat it straight into Coyle’s twisted face. If he hadn’t been tied to a chair, Thomas might have cheered.</p><p>Now the pair of them were fighting like mad dogs. Rolling on the floor between their two chairs. Coyle might not have been a normal man, but he was still normal enough to understand that getting spat on was not friendly. They were close to tearing off each other’s clothes, ready to draw blood; in all the scrimmage, both had forgotten O’Brien who looked exhausted by the whole display.</p><p>She pulled out her gun, cocked the safety trigger, and fired it right into the floor by the pair of them. Thomas cried out, terrified. Phyllis seized, every muscle in her body rigid like she’d been paralyzed.</p><p>Christopher and Coyle jerked away from each other, both of them reacting to the gunshot. Now the pair of them were bleeding from the other, with Coyle sporting a split like and Christopher with a gash above his left eye.</p><p>O’Brien had her gun up and was pointing it at Christopher’s face. Coyle warned her off, a finger out and up. She did not fire, perhaps afraid to go against his wishes, but it was clear she wouldn’t tolerate their scrimmages anymore.</p><p>“Get on with it,” She warned.</p><p>Now livid, and given a moment to think, Coyle became icy. Christopher had a gun on him, and the moment that he made to fight back, Thomas was certain that O’Brien would not hesitate to shoot him dead.</p><p>“You’ve betrayed me,” Coyle said. As he spoke, he walked about the room till he was standing behind Phyllis. Though Christopher had a gun on him, Thomas only had eyes for her; he was terrified of her being harmed.</p><p>“And for that, you’re going to pay the price,” Coyle pulled out a switch blade from pocket, opening it with a well-aimed flick of the wrist. In a menacingly toying manor, he pressed the blade to Phyllis’ neck from behind. Thomas’ heat leapt into his throat, his breathing coming out hard.</p><p>“Look at me,” He begged her, “Just keep your eye on me, it’s going to be okay!”</p><p>He was back to struggling at his bonds, twisting and turning as he tried to break free. All it would take was one pull of the hand and Phyllis would have her throat cut!</p><p>Her face was bloodless, her eyes locked on Thomas. Creepily enough, she did not seem to be afraid or anxious. Instead, something wholly new was taking control of his dearest friend. Something dangerous which seemed to play well with Coyle’s deadly streak.</p><p>“Fair’s fair,” Christopher agreed, “But whatever you want, do it to me… I’m more of a sport for it anyways.”</p><p>Coyle was beyond compassion; to be fair, he’d never been one to empathize anyways. “I don’t understand human emotion. It fascinates me but it’s always been beyond me. I want to know more, and I think you can help me.”</p><p>“Do tell,” Christopher said. “How so.”</p><p>Coyle’s cold blue eyes slid from Christopher to Thomas, until he was wholly fascinated with him and seemed to forget that there was anyone else in the room.</p><p>“Beat him,” though Coyle looked to Thomas, he spoke to Christopher. “Beat him until you can’t recognize his face. Beat him until he has no emotions left. And if you stop before I want you to stop… I’ll cut her throat and make him drink her blood.”</p><p>Christopher said nothing, did nothing, his eyes locked on Coyle. Of all the things that Coyle could have told him to do, it seemed that this was the one thing he couldn’t go through with. Not without hating himself for the rest of his life.</p><p>“… Do it,” Thomas blurted out, thinking only of Phyllis and the danger she was in. She could not even afford to shake her head, her slim neck pressed tight to Coyle’s knife.</p><p>“I cannot,” Christopher would not even contemplate it. It was beyond imagining.</p><p>“I’m ordering you!” Thomas cried out, furious at the man’s refusal. Christopher looked at him, wounded.</p><p>“I’m ordering you to do it,” Thomas said. When Christopher did not automatically agree, he said, “Do it for her, I beg of you…. I’d rather die myself that see her harmed. So do as he says and hit me. I can take it!” And he could. He knew he could. His father had beaten him, those thugs under the bridge had beaten him… plenty of people in his life had hit him, and he knew he could survive it.</p><p>But Phyllis’ baby could not.</p><p>Christopher was seething with self-loathing, his eyes pinched shut as he shakily brought a hand back. He launched a punch at Thomas’ face, but it was loose and when it hit his cheek it simply grazed off. It did not sting or bite. It had felt like a mild slap more than anything.</p><p>“Harder,” Coyle said.</p><p>Christopher did not move to punch him again.</p><p>“Christopher look at me,” Thomas said. “Look at me!”</p><p>He winced, slowly opening his eyes to look at Thomas. He was shocked to find that his eyes were full of tears. Did he really love him so much?</p><p>“I can’t,” he croaked, his voice tiny and small. “I can’t, not when I love you. I can’t. I’d rather die.”</p><p>“This isn’t about us,” Thomas said. “Not anymore. And if you love me as much as you say you do, then you’ll do this for me. Because I cannot let her die… but I’m tied to this chair, Christopher, I’m powerless. You have the ability to save her if you do as he says. So I want you to beat the living shit out of me. Do you understand?”</p><p>“No, I don’t understand.” Christopher’s voice was thick, tears spilling from his eyes. “I don’t understand why I’m in this situation, where I have to hurt the thing I love.”</p><p>“… This is your test, Christopher,” Thomas said. “How much do you love me? Prove it and do as I say… even if I bleed. Even if I lose consciousness. Prove you love me and save her life.”</p><p>Christopher took one shuddering breath, then another. He glanced at Phyllis, whose face was distraught with bitter remorse and resentment. Then, he looked back to Thomas, who was now fully prepared for what ought to come next. The three of them steeled themselves with resolve; it was the only thing that would save them now.</p><p> </p><p>And then, Christopher clenched his fist as tight as he could, and punched Thomas square in the face.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The only confirmation that he was still alive was the slow shaky breathes he took.</p><p>The candles which had at one point burned high and bright shedding good detail upon the room, were now low in their wicks. As a result, Phyllis could not see well. But she’d been awake now in the dark for so long that her eyes had adjusted.</p><p>Christopher Webster had done as Thomas had asked and had beaten him with such strength and vigor that Peter had been satisfied. He’d let Phyllis live, as she’d always known he would. He wasn’t going to slit her throat, that was too quick, too easy. He wanted her to suffer. He wanted all of them to suffer.</p><p>And when Peter had finally told Christopher to stop, Thomas had been unconscious. Christopher had been bound with Thomas’ old ties, which had been cut free so that Thomas was now slumped on the floor. Tied up and left in the corner, Christopher had burst into tears when O’Brien and Peter had left. Overwhelmed with self-loathing, he’d remained inconsolable for hours until finally dropping off to sleep himself. His hands were bruised and dirtied with Thomas’ blood. It was like he’d been branded with hot iron.</p><p>She’d stayed awake through all of it… plotting… and planning.</p><p> </p><p>It had been years, practically a lifetime since she’d engaged this part of her brain. In her determination to be a better a person, she’d cut off Petal, and all that it had meant to run with Peter’s men. Now, however, Thomas’ life was in her hands as well as the life of her unborn baby. If she wanted to get to Joseph, and get Thomas back to Richard Ellis, she would have to shake hands with Petal once again and become the monster that it took to escape Peter’s clutches.</p><p>So, she looked to that demon once more, and asked it what it would do.</p><p>In the eyes of Petal, this room was not so formidable. They were clearly in a mine somewhere, and it was difficult to say how dark and how deep, but Christopher probably knew the way out, so she didn’t have to worry about directions or getting lost. These binds were made of rope, and they needed to be cut. But watching Thomas’ binds be cut and had shown her that the strength of the rope wasn’t entirely high. She needed something sharp… and unfortunately for her the razor she’d put in her shoe was just a little too out of reach. Christopher was not bound in a chair; he could technically wriggle about… but getting him up and motivated was her next goal.</p><p> </p><p>“…Christopher….” Phyllis called out to him. He did not answer. “Christopher!” she said, louder. He winced, looking up at her. He rolled his head on his shoulders; clearly, he had a kink in his neck from sleeping the wrong way.</p><p>“Wake up,” She said. “I’m going to need your help if we’re to get out of here.”</p><p>He sniffed, eyes drifting to Thomas unconscious on the floor.</p><p>“He’s not awake yet,” Phyllis said. “But he can’t help us either way. We’re going to have to work together to get him to safety.”</p><p>“Can’t believe you even wanna talk to me,” Christopher’s self-pity would do them no good. “After what I did to him.”</p><p>“Enough,” she warned him. “Your self-pity won’t do us or him any good. Now focus up and tell me what I need to know. Where are we?”</p><p>“Grantham Mines,” Christopher mumbled, leaning his head back against the wall. “We’re not too far from the estate.”</p><p>“Good,” That would make getting back all the easier. “How do we get out of here?”</p><p>Christopher sighed, exhausted. He nodded to the left, saying, “There’s a bottle in the wall with a knife in it. This room is a torture room, Coyle designed it as such. I hid a knife here ages ago in case I ever got stuck on the wrong side of the door. Now I can’t even reach it… so much for best laid plans.”</p><p>“That’s good, good-“ She was rambling now, talking without thinking. If there was a weapon at their disposal, but out of reach, it would simply have to be taken.</p><p>“Can you stand?”</p><p>Christopher tried, wriggling against the wall. He would make it about a foot or two before his grip would slide out and he’d end up back on the floor. The third time around, he was covered in coal, and ended up cursing as he fell back down.</p><p>The door began to shift; Phyllis glanced over her shoulder, saw it opening, and gestured for Christopher to be quiet.</p><p>The pair of them fell silent, watching tense as the door opened to reveal O’Brien.</p><p>She was carrying a candle.</p><p>She walked forward, and silently lit the candle with the low burning wick of the first. Newfound light took the strain somewhat off their eyes, but it also illuminated Thomas which was less than constructive for Phyllis’ mental health.</p><p>His skin was black and blue, mottled with different shades of green as bruises blossomed upon his ivory skin. It would be a while before he was healed… if he even got the chance.</p><p>But then Phyllis thought of all the times that Thomas had saved her. How he’d been so snappish and cruel and first. How he’d transformed into her protector. How he’d lifted her up from those icy waters to wake her to a nighttime sky. He’d been one with the moon when she’d opened her eyes. The ivory of his skin that she’d so loved had been a lullaby singing her home, glistening from rapidly shed water.</p><p>In that moment she resolved to save him, whatever it took. It would be her to lift the car.</p><p>“Whole county is crawling with coppers tonight…” O’Brien lazily remarked as she walked about their jail cell. Phyllis said nothing, watching her enemy closely. She wanted to know every detail about O’Brien… to memorize the features of her body so that when she destroyed her piece by piece later, she could relive it as many times as she liked.</p><p>O’Brien checked on Thomas, stooping over his so that her shadow cast a dark edge onto the wounds of his face. She said nothing for a moment, simply watching him; something was passing between them… unspoken understanding.</p><p>So when O’Brien slowly reached down to touch Thomas’ face, Phyllis did not rebuke. There was something unbelievably gentle in the way her knuckles graced his face.</p><p>She turned, still half bent over, and regarded Christopher slumped in the corner. There was fire in her eyes.</p><p>“You know…” She said. “He was my friend once.”</p><p>Christopher did not answer her.</p><p>Phyllis could see the emotions playing out beneath her wrinkled skin. She both loathed Christopher for harming her friend and understood that even if Thomas were to wake up now and allow her to touch him, they would never be friends again.</p><p>“How are we feeling tonight, Lancelot?” She taunted. “Your Guinevere seems to be knocked out cold.”</p><p>“Lucky him,” Christopher griped. “I’m a bit thirsty actually… you see that grotto in the wall?” Christopher nodded to the left. “There’s some good stash in there. Would you deny a doomed man a drink?”</p><p>“Maybe I would if I thought it suspicious,” she replied. And, to be fair, Phyllis would have thought the same thing in her shoes. She knew that the drink was actually a knife in a bottle… perhaps Christopher’s goal was to get her to bring the bottle closer.</p><p><em>Should we kill her now, or wait? </em>Phyllis wondered.</p><p>“I’m the son of a whiskey drummer,” Christopher reminded her, “I’ve made whiskey all my life. S’practically water to me; not suspicious at all. It’s my nature.”</p><p>“Much like our dear Thomas is in your nature,” She said, and there was an ugly tone to her voice when she added, “And on your hands.”</p><p>“A bit,” and Phyllis could tell just how much Christopher hated her in that moment. He was good at hiding it, that was probably why Peter hadn’t been able to sus him out at first. “You like whiskey?”</p><p>“I like being in control of my body,” O’Brien replied.</p><p>“Fair enough,” it wasn’t a crime to dislike alcohol or its effects. “But it’d be a shame to go to waste. Course… that’s just my tastes. When you make it yourself, you tend to favor your own desires.”</p><p>For a moment, O’Brien simply stared at Christopher, sizing him up. She found him worthwhile in the end and walked over to the eastern wall where she ran her hands along the coal. When a chunk gave way at her touch, she found a thick brown bottle inside. It was larger than Phyllis had been expecting, clearly it had at one point in time been an actual whiskey bottle.</p><p>“This one?” She offered.</p><p>“It’ll do.” Christopher agreed, “Not my best, but that’s far away from here. In the mill. You don’t shit where you eat.”</p><p>O’Brien tossed it over to him, and it landed upon his legs.</p><p>“If you can pick it up, you can drink it,” She declared. Had it actually been whiskey, this would have been a cruel and demeaning joke. To see what you desired right in front of you and still not be able to reach it.</p><p>“I could pick it up with my toes at this point,” Christopher sneered.</p><p>“You’ll have to,” she made her way back to the door, ignoring Thomas on the floor as she passed. But when she reached Phyllis, she stopped, and looked at her.</p><p>Phyllis, unlike Christopher, was unable to hide her loathing. She glared at O’Brien, wishing to God she could rise from this chair and claw her eyes out.</p><p><em>I will kill you very soon, </em>she swore.</p><p>O’Brien too was wrapped up in contemplation for her common enemy.</p><p>“She always said how beautiful you were to her…. How sweet and innocent,” And for all the venom in her voice, it was clear each title was an insult. But who was the ‘her’ she mentioned?</p><p>“I don’t see it,” O’Brien said. She left and closed the door behind her so that they were once again concealed in darkness (albeit with a new candle to shed light).</p><p>For a moment, the three of them were left in silence, each waiting to see what would happen next. Then, Christopher asked: “She gone?”</p><p>“Gone,” Phyllis agreed.</p><p>At once, Christopher began to wriggle like a fish. He flipped from his back to his stomach, so that the whiskey bottle was beneath him. Struggling upon the ground with his knees, he finally managed to bring the bottle back to his bound wrists. He began to scrounge his way up the wall.</p><p>This time, when he fell, the bottle went with him and cracked beneath his weight. He winced, the broken glass biting into the skin of his wrists and hands.</p><p>Still, he had a makeshift blade with the glass now, and a knife to go with it.</p><p>For a moment, Phyllis waited with bated breath as Christopher cut at his binds. When he finally sprang free, ropes pooling upon the ground from his wrists and ankles, she let out an audible sigh of relief.</p><p>Finally, things were beginning to go their way!</p><p>The first thing she’d expected Christopher to do was tend to Thomas. After all, he’d proclaimed his love earlier. But instead, Christopher went straight to her and began to cut at her binds with his newfound knife. It was a straight razor, the kind that men shaved with thirty years ago.</p><p>When her wrists came free, he handed her the razor so that she could continue upon her legs. Once again, she figured he would leave her be. Instead, while she worked on her left leg, he worked on her right.</p><p>She was free in a matter of seconds and staggered from her chair to firstly tend to Thomas.</p><p>Now both she and Christopher were upon him, cutting off the binds from his wrists and legs so that he was free to lay flat upon the floor. He did not stir, his breathes shaky.</p><p>Christopher rose up and fetched the new candlestick from the ledge, showing the light down upon Thomas so that they could see him better.</p><p>“How is he?” He asked, afraid.</p><p>His eyes were swollen, his mouth bruised and split. Blood was dried upon his left nostril and his face had turned a sickly slander of purple and green.</p><p>“Fucked good and proper,” She fretted. He needed Dr. Clarkson, and fast.</p><p>“And so are we,” he agreed. “This door is locked with a key, and I don’t think we’ll be able to make do with a broken bottle or a knife. This whole room was made to hold you.”</p><p>“Me?” She had to be sure she’d heard right.</p><p>“Oh yeah,” he scoffed, “You’re something of a fascination for my dear ex-employer.”</p><p>“Fascination, that’s a word for it,” She muttered. She went over to the door, dropping to her knees to search for a keyhole but found nothing with her fingers… could it be that the lock didn’t go through both ways? What a peculiar door; they must have drug it in from somewhere else. But in that case, they could probably bring it down.</p><p>But that would get everyone’s attention, and then they’d have to scatter quickly. If Thomas was on his feet, that would be one thing; as it stood, he would have to be carried and Phyllis wouldn’t be able to do it.</p><p>“What do you think?” Christopher asked. Phyllis glanced over her shoulder to find that he was still caring for Thomas, trying to wipe his face clean of blood.</p><p>“I think I’m in charge,” She said, for it was clear that Christopher would be of absolutely no use when it came to planning their escape. He was too embroiled with Thomas to see clearly.</p><p>He looked up, scoffed, and began, “Do y-“</p><p>“I’m in charge,” She repeated, her voice hard and demanding. So used was Christopher to running with difficult and dangerous people that he didn’t even put up a fight. He made a face of benign acceptance, and finally said:</p><p>“Well okay then.” And he returned his attentions to Thomas.</p><p>“Can you carry him?” She asked, walking back over.</p><p>“Yeah,” He might be thin and reedy, but he was well toned. Thomas was bigger than Christopher, or at least stockier; it felt rude even in her head to insist that he was plump.</p><p><em>He’s not fat, </em>she admonished herself. <em>Christopher’s just thin as a rake. </em></p><p>“But carry him to where?” Christopher demanded, “We can’t take him out of here. We can’t even get out of here ourselves.”</p><p>But this was piddle and pish talk. Nonsense. The door could be opened, obviously. It was just clear that someone else would have to open it for them. She bent over and undid the ankle brace of her shoe to pull out her hidden switchblade; Christopher did a double take as she tossed his back to him.</p><p>“Every lock has a key,” she declared as she did back up her shoe.</p><p>When she looked up, she found Christopher watching her in amazement. “You really are a hot little pepper aren’t you… Thomas went on and on about how he had to protect you, but it seems that you don’t really need protecting.”</p><p> </p><p>It was a funny thing. In truth, she’d thought herself defenseless for quite a while and actually had needed his protecting. But something had twisted inside of her, had been flipped inside out at the sight of Thomas being beaten for her sake.</p><p>Of Thomas asking to be beaten for her sake.</p><p>It put a taste of acid in her mouth. To distract herself, she fixed her ankle strap a little so that it sat more comfortably.</p><p>“What I needed was a reason to protect something,” Phyllis explained.</p><p>Christopher looked like he might have something to say in that regard but before he could truly get into the topic the sound of drunken voices outside their door caught their attention.</p><p>Phyllis rapidly gestured for Christopher to get back; he grabbed the discarded ropes as he went, hiding them behind his back. She returned to her chair, turning herself so that she was now facing the door instead of away from it, and clasped her hands behind her back like she was still bound. In her hands, folded and ready, was her switchblade.</p><p>“What’s the plan?” Christopher hissed.</p><p>“Let them come,” She whispered, speaking rapidly lest they were cut off by a new arrival. “Wait till their distracted. If there’s more than one, take different people. Keep them quiet.”</p><p>“If I can get us out of this hole, I can get us to safety,” he swore. “We just have to get past the lift.”</p><p>“I’ll hold you to that,” She warned.</p><p>The door was shuddering and groaning. Someone on the other side was either drunk or an idiot and couldn’t get the door open without force. When it finally sprang forth, it cracked onto the other side and nearly dislodged the candlestick from its ledge.</p><p>Sure enough, two drunk men were there. They were stinking, filthy animals with leering smiles and rosy cheeks. Perhaps they’d been sucking down Christopher’s whiskey.</p><p>“Well look who it fuckin’ is!” One of the men boomed, spreading his arms wide so that Phyllis’ nose was assaulted by the smell of his armpits. “The rat!”</p><p>“Squeak squeak, got any cheese?” Christopher sneered from the floor.</p><p>“I got plenty where you’re concerned,” And at this, the second man grabbed his crotch as if to insist that his penis alone was big enough and meaty enough to beat Christopher to death.</p><p>“Oh come on now boys, let’s not be like that-“ Christopher was broken off as the men avoided him altogether to instead focus on Thomas.</p><p>Why Thomas? Why not her? They were pointedly avoiding her like they were frightened of invoking her ire.</p><p><em>Maybe it’s Peter, </em>she thought. <em>Maybe he’s told them not to touch me. </em></p><p>“And what do we have here?” The drunk almost fell over onto Thomas, unable to keep his balance as he looked down at his face. “A little molly. Cor, that’s a face you don’t soon forget.”</p><p>They began to laugh, unable to contain themselves. Phyllis glanced over her shoulder at Christopher; he was waiting on pins and needles, furious at the men making fun.</p><p>Now they were talking to each other, completely oblivious to the others in their state of inebriation.</p><p>“They say they look like a woman when you take off their clothes-“</p><p>“Liar,” the second scoffed, smacking his fellow upon the breast in admonishment.</p><p>“Go on, see for yourself!”</p><p>“No I don’t want to!”</p><p>“Go on…” And to sweeten the pot, he added, “I’ll give you a bob.”</p><p>“You don’t have a bob,” clearly the pair of them were well known to one another. To supply, the first pulled out his bob and showed it to the other who scoffed in delight. He tried to grab it, only to have the bob yanked back.</p><p>Phyllis and Christopher had their eyes locked on the other.</p><p>
  <em>Now? </em>
</p><p><em>No, not yet, </em>she gave the tiniest shake of her head.</p><p>“Where did you get that?” one demanded.</p><p>“Nicked it!” he declared. “If you take off his clothes, I’ll give it to you.”</p><p>“D’you promise?” The second warned. “No skiving off?”</p><p>“I swear it!” the first said, a hand over his heart still holding the bob.</p><p>The second took the bait and began to bend over with hands outstretched for Thomas’ bloodstained collar. The first was watching intently, completely lost in his hungry lust for humiliation.</p><p> </p><p>She bolted.</p><p> </p><p>It took less than a second, with Christopher leaping from the floor blade in hand. Each of them grabbed a man; Christopher took the one reaching for Thomas’ collar and cut his throat, so that a tide of blood splattered onto the floor. Phyllis shoved her own razor up into the jugular vein of the first, gutting him like a pig. He fell to the floor with his friend, both of them choking and gasping but unable to cry out.</p><p>Christopher stamped on the neck of the second, killing him. When the first finally fell still, the pair of them wiped their knives clean of blood.</p><p>“Aye, that’ll do it,” he declared.</p><p>Now the door was wide open. Phyllis dropped to her knees, her wedding dress now stained with blood, and searched through the pockets of the men for anything that might be of use to them. She found them empty, save for a gun which she gratefully pocketed.</p><p>It was nothing to write home about, merely a pistol with twelve bullets, but that was twelve more than she’d had a moment before.</p><p>“You handle Thomas, I’ll take care of the rest,” She said.</p><p>With all the loving embrace of a wife to her husband, Christopher bent down over Thomas and ever so carefully picked him up from the floor.</p><p>“Hey… hey.” Thomas’ head rolled upon his shoulders, his swollen eyes fluttering open. He groaned, unappreciative of the wakeup call. “We’re blowing this joint.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Once when Thomas had been small and ill with fever, his mother had given him medicine with morphine and sulph. He’d woken in the middle of the night and had been so out of his mind with drugs that he’d momentarily contemplated if he had the ability to fly.</p><p>Now, laying upon the floor of a cave with his head cleaved in, Thomas felt the same way.</p><p>Someone was above him, calling out to him.</p><p>
  <em>“Hey. Hey…” </em>
</p><p>He blinked sluggishly; his eyelids swollen from abuse.</p><p>“Hey… hey…” the face of Christopher swam hazily into view. There was blood on his cheek. “We’re blowing this joint.”</p><p>For a moment, Thomas could not comprehend what those words meant. Blowing a joint? How? But then, he felt oddly free, like he could roll his wrists or shift his legs. He did both, his head aching and his face swollen, but his limbs untethered. He’d been cut from his binds.</p><p>And then it occurred to him what exactly ‘We’re blowing this joint’ meant. Somehow, Christopher had freed them.</p><p>He slowly sat up, allowing Christopher to help him till they were eye level. His back ached, his stomach was sore from abuse. He’d not been beaten this hard since that time at the fair.</p><p>“…Don’t think I can walk,” Thomas whispered. At this point, he’d be better off crawling for the door. Christopher wouldn’t take no for an answer, he pulled Thomas up by the waist and held onto him tightly as he dragged him towards a now open door. But so many things were catching Thomas’ eye that he couldn’t process it all at once.</p><p>Baxter was free, but she was holding a gun and had blood all over the hem of her dress. He looked down at the floor and there were two dead men! Both had had their throats cut, and Christopher was holding a razor! He’d killed again, and inches from Thomas! It made him want to be sick.</p><p>“You killed them!” He did mean to sound like such a sap, but he couldn’t stand the thought of Christopher murdering again for his sake. What did this make it? Eight? Nine victims? “Why did you do it?”</p><p>For whatever reason, Baxter looked nervous and would not meet his eye. Christopher was shameful, tugging Thomas along.</p><p>“Look, I had to get us out,” He whispered, “An’ I’ll have you know they were goin’ to take your clothes off to see what you looked like naked, so I’d think you’d be happier about it.”</p><p>The idea made him want to be sick.</p><p>Out the door they went, to find they were in the bottom of a massive cave. It extended up on rocky walls for thirty feet at minimum. The only way up was a lift, which could be called by a bell rope. At one point in time, this must have been used by miners to continue their work for coal. Now, it was an abandoned torture pit.</p><p>As Baxter examined the rig, Christopher whispered in his ear, “Your friend is terrifying.”</p><p>But he couldn’t focus. His head was aching!</p><p>“Sorry I have a headache,” he mumbled. He palmed his forehead to find that even a simple touch hurt. Christopher certainly hadn’t held back any qualms when he’d beaten the life out of him.</p><p>This admission of pain brought shame to Christopher, who held him all the tighter. “Thomas, I swear to you… I will get you out of here if it’s the last thing that I do.”</p><p>“What’s this mine laid out like?” Baxter asked, pointing to the top of the shaft where the elevator was waiting. “What’s up there?”</p><p>“The whole things’ spread out like a giant snake,” Christopher said. “There are three ways out. You’ve got the main entrance which is guarded to hell and back.”</p><p>“That’s out,” she muttered.</p><p>“Then we’ve got the back exit, and that’s got a lock… but if I can find MacGellen, he’s got the key. He hates me now, but I can probably choke him out and steal it back.”</p><p>“And the third?” Baxter asked, for clearly she did not find the idea of ‘choking out’ MacGellen to be bountiful.</p><p>But Christopher just made a face. “I’d rather not, it involves a river and a cliff.”</p><p>So, it seemed they were hard up for choice either way.</p><p>“Call down the lift,” Baxter said. Thomas was shocked to see her check the bullets in her gun. It was like something out of a nickelodeon, far from the grasp of reality. But here she was, in a bloodied and torn wedding dress, looking ready to kill a man.</p><p>He couldn’t put two and two together in his head.</p><p>Christopher did as he was bade, ringing the rope. From up above, the lift began to descend. A bit of dust rained down on their heads, evidence of the weight and the exhaustion of the system. As Christopher held Thomas to his side, he pressed a bloodied razor blade to his hands.</p><p>“Why?” He croaked.</p><p>“Protection,” Christopher said. “Keep it close.” But Thomas knew in that moment that he would not be able to defend himself. He’d been beaten too hard, pushed too low, and now he was prime pickings for the vultures.</p><p>“I can’t,” he whispered into Christopher’s neck. He looked down at Thomas, carefully brushing a stray hair from his forehead where it had been stuck with dried blood. He held his razor with two fingers, someone else’s blood staining Thomas’ temple.</p><p>“Don’t worry,” Christopher swore. “I’ll get you home to him if it’s the last thing I do.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>As the lift reached the bottom, Baxter hurriedly gestured from Christopher and Thomas to flatten themselves to the wall. They did as they were bade, and not a moment too soon as the lift touched bottom to reveal a scraggly man with many scars upon his face. Confused as to why he’d been called to a vacant landing, the man poked his head out to see around the edges of the lift.</p><p>Baxter reached out and smacked the man hard over the head with the butt of her gun. It was the same move that O’Brien had used on Thomas, but Baxter wielded it with such proficiency that the man was knocked out cold in one fell swoop. He crumpled to the floor, a lifeless lump, and was promptly kicked out of the way by Baxter as she boarded the lift. She stuck out her hand for Christopher, who instead of taking it passed Thomas over like he were a ragdoll.</p><p>Thomas was unable to understand it. It was like Baxter had sprouted a third arm and was now waving it about in front of his face.</p><p>Why had she hit the man so hard? How had she been capable of doing it? In her arms, he gaped up at her afraid and unsure.</p><p>If she was capable of this… what else?</p><p>But she was not looking at him. Instead, she was helping Christopher to board the lift, and now the pair of them were beginning the arduous process of using the pulley rope to lift themselves up. The lift in Downton Abbey was powered by electricity and was used to hoist up valises that were too big for Andy or Albert.</p><p>“Why didn’t you tell me it was her?” Baxter grunted as she continued to haul. Desperate to be of use, Thomas tried to help but his arms ached, and his joints were swollen stiff from abuse. He slumped against the rail, morose.</p><p>“I could have handled this ages ago, if I’d known it was her,” and she certainly sounded wound up about it. “She’s nothing against me.”</p><p>Frankly, Thomas believed her.</p><p>“… What are you saying?” He whispered. Baxter caught his eye, noted how distressed he was, and consoled him.</p><p>“Nothing… It’s nothing,” She swore. “Don’t worry, don’t fret. I’ll take care of everything. You just rest your eyes. We’ll be at the top soon.”</p><p>Unable to resist, Thomas slumped to the floor of the lift and took a moment just to simply sit and breathe.</p><p> </p><p>The lift ground to a stop as both Christopher and Baxter stopped pulling. As a result, they were now hanging in mid-air, only a few feet from the top. Baxter pressed a finger to her lips, warning Thomas and Christopher for silence. The pair of them tied off the lift, using an ancient cleat so that they were hanging precariously over a thirty-foot drop. Should either rope break, they would all fall to their deaths.</p><p>Thomas staggered up to his feet, limping over to his friends.</p><p>“What are we doing?” He whispered.</p><p>“We don’t know what’s on top,” Baxter said.</p><p>“Or who,” Christopher added under his breath. He rolled up his sleeves to better free up his dirtied arms. “Let me go first. I’ll make sure the coast is clear and lift you up when it’s safe.”</p><p>And up he went, climbing the rock face itself and using the ropes of the lift like a monkey so that he was soon over the edge. As he disappeared over the side, Thomas looked to Baxter. The pair of them were now alone in that ancient and ugly cradle.</p><p>“Thomas…” Baxter spoke softly to him, like a mother might to her babe. “I have to tell you something very important.”</p><p>“Okay,” he said.</p><p>“Christopher didn’t kill those men alone,” She tilted her head. “I killed one of them… and I will probably kill many more very soon.”</p><p>“But…” He didn’t want her to kill. She was the only good and pure thing in his life. He was the dark one between the two of them, wasn’t he? He didn’t want her to suffer, or to be treated poorly. To have to do wicked things to survive; that was his plight. But it seemed she would not be put aside on this matter.</p><p>“Thomas,” she touched his bruised lips with her fingertips, silencing him. “There is a side of me you’ve never known, an’ for good reason. Petal is not a person I want you to know. But if we’re to get out of this, we’ll have to pull back the cover and shake hands with her once again.” At this, Baxter pulled out her stolen gun, cocking back the safety release.</p><p>“Shall I tell you another secret,” She asked. Thomas did not know what to say so he remained silent. “The reason you are so dear to me… is that you thought you were the dark one between us. You never knew I was the worser. You never allowed yourself to even think, if but for one second, that I could be worse than you.”</p><p>“… You’re not.” He assured her.</p><p>“Silly lamb,” if they weren’t in such a fragile and dangerous situation, he might have gotten cross with her for saying as such. Then, before either of them could continue on such a difficult conversation, the shriek of a frightened man cut the night.</p><p>A body went careening over the edge, and for a moment, Thomas feared that it might be Christopher. Instead, it turned out to be another criminal, who was kicked over into the darkness. He cried out all the way to the bottom, until he hit the floor and was silent. Whether he was dead or not, who could say?</p><p>And then, Christopher poked his head over the edge. “It’s safe, untie the ropes.”</p><p>So Baxter and Thomas each took a rope, the pair of them undoing the cleats for Christopher to finish hauling them up. There must be a lever of some type above, for one man could not pull it off by himself. When they reached the top, Thomas found it lit by a host of candles, and bearing a single crankshaft that looked capable of opening the doors of hell itself. Christopher was at the handle, the master of their salvation.</p><p>“Shall we?” Christopher asked.</p><p>“Right,” Baxter and Christopher took the lead, each of them flanking for Thomas who limped along at a slower pace.</p><p>“Ribs?” Baxter asked over her shoulder as they moved into the dark.</p><p>“Yeah,” he grunted.</p><p>“You took the beating rather well,” She said.</p><p>“Really? Thank you,” What a ridiculous compliment to give. As they came to a corner, Baxter and Christopher poked their heads around in order to motion that the coast was clear. This was the routine for several lengths, their pace agonizingly slow as they hid in the dark. They passed by a man who was so savagely beaten on his roll out mat that he did not even know they’d passed. Christopher gazed down at him, heartbroken.</p><p>“David,” he whispered, taking a knee to feel his pulse.</p><p>“A friend?” Thomas asked.</p><p>“He was going to help us…” Christopher lamented. “He paid the price.”</p><p>“We’ll come back for him,” Baxter assured him. Thomas feared that by the time they did, David would be dead.</p><p>Christopher felt around David’s body, reaching beneath him for his waistband. When he came back, he had a gun. David must have hidden it in an attempt to keep himself safe from Coyle’s men. But if he’d had a gun to shoot, why hadn’t he done so?</p><p> </p><p>They carried on, feeling their way in the dark.</p><p> </p><p>“Jesus Christ how far back are we?” Thomas whispered.</p><p>“Not farther now,” he promised. “Keep going, how are you feeling? Can you walk any easier?”</p><p>Admittedly, the exercise was helping his joints to feel less stiff but he had a righteous headache and his jaw joints felt swollen.</p><p>“Like I got the shit kicked out of me, you prick,” he cursed.</p><p>Baxter was having her own woes, examining her ruined dress in the light of a torch that they passed.</p><p>“I paid ten quid for this dress,” She lamented.</p><p>“Ten quid?!” Christ, she was only going to wear it once! That was a sixth of his annual salary! He knew for a fact that she made twenty less than she did… so how did she come up with all that money?</p><p>“Ruined… absolutely ruined,” She sighed. “Mr. Moseley Senior paid for it too. I was going to give it to my daughter if I have one.”</p><p>“Cut it up, make art out of it,” Christopher whispered. “It’ll be very French.”</p><p>“Oh perfect. Just what I’ve always wanted to be, <em>French</em>.”</p><p>They were getting closer to the opening of a chamber where light and fresh air could be seen. But instead of running towards it, Christopher and Baxter grew slower and slower till they stopped and silently shushed Thomas from making a sound.</p><p>They cling to the fringe of a rock wall, using the jutting edges to hide their faces as they peaked around the corner. Sure enough, the mouth of the cave could be seen; it was night, with no natural light to mark the mouth save for where three torches were burning. Several men were gathered there, all of them trying to warm themselves by a battered drum which was burning old newspaper. Worst of all, amidst them was O’Brien, though she did not attempt to make merry with her fellows. She seemed to be waiting for something, or someone.</p><p>“That’s the way out,” Christopher whispered.</p><p>“Course it is… bad harvest, bad harvest.” Thomas could curse himself for their rotten luck.</p><p>“…Ten men,” Baxter crouched back around, and began to look at her gun to see how many bullets she had. “Six bullets.”</p><p>“What are you saying?” Thomas asked. Baxter did not answer him, too busy cleaning the barrel of her stollen gun to insure it was in top order.</p><p>Christopher reached into his waistband and gave Baxter David’s gun.</p><p>“Now you have twelve,” she said. Baxter checked David’s gun, careful to count her ammo twice.</p><p>“Tight…” She was displeased with the numbers. “Not much room for maneuvering and nothing to hide behind out there.”</p><p>“What should we do?” Thomas asked. “We could go for the back door?”</p><p>“MacGellen is out there with the others,” Christopher said. “Even if we got the key from him, we’d still have to get out there and shoot his ass.”</p><p>“We…” Baxter scoffed at the notion of the plural. “We are doing nothing. Me? That’s another story.” She squatted on her knees, her back to Thomas. “Unbutton me.”</p><p>“What?” He demanded.</p><p>“Unzip me, I can’t do anything in this damnable contraption. I need to be able to move.”</p><p>It was dirty and personal, to unbutton her dress. His cheeks were flushed with blood, heat searing from his face and fingers trembling as he helped her shed her wedding dress. Beneath, she wore a corset and a chemise.</p><p>Her wedding dress was ruined, a lost cause at this point. It was abandoned in a dirty puddle of cloth upon the cave floor, with Baxter stepping out of it so that she was now free to move as she pleased. Christopher observed her with an arched eyebrow, clearly having never wanted to see a semi-naked woman in his life. You couldn’t see much, not unless you looked really hard, but there were two obvious dark spots beneath her chemise where her nipples undoubtably lay and her knickers were tight upon her hips. Her garter belt helped nothing; it was lacy and blue. Of all the things that Thomas had never wanted to see!</p><p>“What?” She demanded, grouchy at Christopher’s ogling.</p><p>“Bit old fashioned ain’t it,” Christopher gestured to her corset.</p><p>“Keep your eyes to yourself or I’ll pluck them out,” She warned. With a gun in each hand that was hardly an idle threat.</p><p>“Lady, you ain’t got nothin’ that I want,” he sneered jerking his head in Thomas’ direction. Baxter looked back at Thomas who quickly covered his eyes.</p><p>“Bashful little violet,” She teased.</p><p>“Your garter,” He complained. “I never needed to know you were wearing a garter.”</p><p>“Bet the groom was going to pull it off with his teeth,” Christopher muttered. Thomas almost gagged on reflex.</p><p>Baxter double checked her guns, ensuring that they were snug in the grips of her palms. She noted Thomas watching her and gave him a sad little smile. It was almost like they were back in the servant’s hall, the pair of them sharing an intimate conversation with a cup of tea after a long day.</p><p>“I told you, I’d gladly cut off a limb if it meant I could erase this part of my life,” Baxter said. “But I’m afraid it’s our only way out now.”</p><p>As she made to head out into the main cavern, Thomas took her by the elbow and held her back. Christopher gave them space, perhaps aware they needed a moment.</p><p>“I told you, this was my sacrifice,” he whispered. “My car to lift…” and yet at that moment, his head gave a terrible throb of pain. He winced, holding his head in his hands.</p><p>“Cor’ my head,” he groaned.</p><p>She shook her head, unable to hold him with her hands full of weapons.</p><p>“Let me do this,” She said. “One last time. Because your head hurts… “ There was a tiny bit of a joke to it. “You saved me today from Coyle, Thomas. You took the punishment that was meant for me. Now let me save you from O’Brien.”</p><p>He had to say it, because if he didn’t do it now then when would he? Knowing full well this could be the last time they spoke, he whispered, “I love you, Phyllis. No matter what.”</p><p>She beamed, touched by his admission. She knew his antics; how difficult it was for him to be open or emotional. She cupped his face, her hand still holding one of her guns. The metal was cold and smooth against his skin.</p><p>She nodded, content, and pressed a soft kiss to his bruised and swollen cheek. Her lips were warm and soft, a gentle reminder of tenderness after a terrible and painful night.</p><p>She turned, and left for the main cavern, her steps soft and small. She clung to the shadows, hiding as she approached ever closer to their unsuspecting prey.</p><p>Thomas and Christopher hid against the wall, the pair of them crouched together. Thomas held Baxter’s shed wedding dress in his hands, pressing it to his hammering heart.</p><p>When Baxter was close enough, she stopped hiding altogether. Stepping out of the shadows, she walked forward, guns out and up like a cowboy from a western tale. The sound of her heels clacking against stone alerted O’Brien, who looked about only to go white with shock.</p><p>For a moment, they simply stared at one another, each woman registering the other and what her presence must mean. Baxter tilted her head to the side, a bit coquettish, and then quick as a flash she pointed her guns at the men blocking their path to freedom.</p><p>Shot after shot she fired, with such precision and skill that four men instantly fell to the floor dead! Thomas gaped, horrified at the bloody display. O’Brien dove for cover, crashing painfully to the floor to hide behind a boulder as she scrambled for her own gun.</p><p>Men were trying to shoot Baxter back, but before they had their guns up or out, she was already finding her aim and shooting them down. One after another they fell, till only a few were left who went screaming out into the dark. Clearly their devotion to Coyle had a limit. The remaining three were perhaps the best of the whole lot, able to throw their bodies about to get out of the way of Baxter’s swift aim. As a result, the four of them were dodging and ducking, each running in a mock circle to get away from the other. It was almost like a queer game of pin the tail on the maid.</p><p>A few bullets, attempting to hit Baxter, went sailing past her to zing off the cliff face near where Thomas and Christopher were hiding. In an attempt to keep him safe, Christopher crushed Thomas against the cave wall.</p><p>They were nose to nose now, panting, with only Baxter’s dress between them.</p><p>“…Why do all of this?” Thomas wondered. “Why go against Coyle? Why didn’t you just cut and run?”</p><p>“I was never for him to begin with,” Christopher whispered back. “I was always your man, in this. Through and through.”</p><p>But even if Christopher were his man, and even if they were hiding in this cave together, Thomas could not put asunder the fact that he loved another. The fact that he could never give Christopher what he wanted. It was a foreign sensation to him, to have an admirer and not be free to return the affections.</p><p>“Christopher-“</p><p>He touched Thomas’ lips with a bloodied finger, silencing him. The taste of copper on his tongue made him salivate.</p><p>“I know,” Christopher whispered, barely audible over the din, “You don’t have to explain anything. I know this changes nothing. I’m not asking for it to.”</p><p>“Then why?”</p><p>“…Because-“</p><p>But before Christopher could explain his actions and how they intertwined with his feelings, the sound of someone running their way caught both their attention. O’Brien was running for cover, ducking and dodging after a hail of bullet fire that was coming her way. Christopher jerked to his feet, Thomas staggering after him, and as O’Brien came around the corner, he socked her hard in the jaw.</p><p>He expected her to fall to the ground, to be knocked unconscious, but life had been hard for O’Brien, and it was clear she’d been punched before. Instead of falling, she skittered a bit in her stance and turned, her own fist up and out. She cracked Christopher across the face just as he’d done to her, and then the pair of them broke out into a dog fight.</p><p>It was brutal and hellish to watch, with O’Brien’s hair in her face and a knife in her hands. Christopher gave as good as he got, the pair of them rolling on the floor; Thomas wished he could be of more help, but his vision was dizzy and he couldn’t figure out where to throw a punch. Even if he could regain his balance, he couldn’t gather enough strength to land a blow that would count.</p><p>Clinging to the cave wall, Thomas studied Baxter’s tattered dress in his hands. O’Brien was atop Christopher, now punching him repeatedly in the jaw.</p><p>Inspired, Thomas slung out the dress like one would cast a fishing net. It fell atop O’Brien, clouding her vision and giving Christopher just enough leeway to get up and out of her grasp. Staggering back to his feet. Christopher kicked O’Brien hard in the stomach so that she crashed into the opposite cave wall and nearly dropped her knife. A thin trickle of blood was rolling down Christopher’s pointed chin.</p><p>Thomas held out his knife, allowing Christopher to be his shield. O’Brien ripped the dress from her face, furious. Now the three of them were facing off, each holding a knife and furious at their circumstances. O’Brien’s gun was gone; Thomas wondered if she’d lost it in the struggle with Baxter who was still blasting away in the main cavern.</p><p>“Well this is a bitch of a situation, ain’t it India?” Christopher was grinning like a maniac, delighted by the idea of violence. Thomas just felt sick to his stomach.</p><p>“Maybe for some,” O’Brien was beginning to sweat profusely. Her dark eyes were dancing left and right, looking for a way out. Baxter had cut off the main exit. If Christopher had it right, there were only two other ways out, and one of them involved a cave and river system.</p><p>“For you,” Christopher sneered. “Three knives, two guns, an’ we’ve got em all on our side.”</p><p>“You think I’m afraid of a gun?” She demanded. “Wielded by some waifey little girl-“</p><p>“How many men are dead in that cavern?” he jerked his head to the main entrance. “An’ you’re next sweetheart.”</p><p>The name was enough to spurn her into a rage. It was one thing to be threatened with violence, it was another to be spoken to by a man in a derogatory fashion. Knowing where she chose to draw the line, O’Brien raised up her knife like some might a hatchet and charged Christopher who met her halfway.</p><p>This time, Thomas dare not intrude. The entire energy of the fight had shifted, and with it the consequences. O’Brien was bleeding, but so was Christopher; it was difficult to know who was winning or losing. In the shadows of the main cavern, Thomas saw someone coming. At first, in his dizzied state, he prayed it was Baxter who would end their suffering and kill O’Brien for good. Instead, it turned out to be his worst nightmare.</p><p>Coyle was devoid of emotion despite the fact that the main cavern of his sanctuary was full of dead men. It seemed that he didn’t care what happened to those that followed him. He raised his hand, a gun pointed directly at Thomas’ face.</p><p>He did not know why he shouted the name, only that it came naturally: “Christopher!”</p><p>The terror in his voice caught Christopher’s attention; he looked up from his fight with O’Brien and saw Coyle coming.</p><p>Like a knight from some peculiar fairytale, he launched himself in front of Thomas, arms spread wide.</p><p> </p><p>The bullet hit him in his left shoulder, directly where Thomas’ face would have been. He fell backwards into Thomas, the pair of them crashing to the ground with Christopher’s blood drenching Thomas’ neck.</p><p>At once, he pressed his hands to the wound, trying to keep the damage minimal.</p><p>O’Brien was gasping for breath, wounded terribly from her debacle with Christopher. Blood was pouring from her right arm; she was slumped against the cave wall, her hair disheveled, and her brow tinged with a cold sweat. Christopher groaned and spluttered in Thomas’ lap, trying to crawl his way back up to a standing position.</p><p>“Christopher!” he prayed that the man would live. “Are you alright?!”</p><p>“Kind of,” Christopher said, which in any other situation might have been mildly hysterical.</p><p>Coyle observed all of this, from his best general in a disheveled heap to Christopher having nearly shed his life for a man he could not love.</p><p>“Fascinating,” Coyle said. It was as good as he gave when it came to human emotion. He raised his gun again, this time his aim true as he pointed it at Christopher and Thomas. But before he could fire, the gun was shot out of his hand.</p><p>A normal man might have cried out in pain, with blood oozing from their hand and their weapon now useless upon the cave floor. A normal man might have looked around, shocked at the fact that their gun had been shot out of their hand.</p><p>Coyle just stared at his wounded hand, and casually looked over his shoulder to the main cavern.</p><p>There stood Baxter, her own gun raised firm and true. Thomas wondered how many bullets she had left, and what had happened to the other one; hadn’t she originally had two?</p><p>Slowly, Baxter approached. Her heels, once pearly white, were now muddy and ruined from the blood of other men. The sound of her shoes clicking on the cave floor became an overwhelming noise, muffled only by the pants of the others.</p><p>The entrance was clear, but they could not run for it with both Thomas and Christopher wounded.</p><p>“…Phyllis,” Coyle was entranced by her. If he’d been a normal man, Thomas might have even said he was in love. As it stood, he didn’t know if Coyle was capable of loving another. If he even knew what love meant.</p><p>“Peter,” They were completely equal now, perhaps in their most natural state of being.</p><p>“Will you kill me, Phyllis?” Peter asked. “Will you release me from this prison?”</p><p>“I don’t have the bullets to spare,” She said. It was an ugly way to talk about a man that had once fathered her unborn baby. Coyle’s lips quirked at the corner, like he might have wanted to smile.</p><p>“Thomas are you okay?” Phyllis did not look at him as she spoke, her eyes and gun trained on Coyle. To glance, to dare to check on her companions, might result in all of their deaths.</p><p>“Christopher’s shot,” He blurted out.</p><p>“So long as you’re not,” she said.</p><p>“Don’t say that!” He kept his hands pressed on Christopher’s wound, trying to keep him comfortable despite the fact they were crouched on the cave floor. This was hardly ideal.</p><p>“It’ll be okay,” he promised the man, though it was a weak solution to an exceedingly difficult problem.</p><p>“S’not so bad,” he griped, his voice clenched in pain. “I’ve had worse.”</p><p>“Like what?” He demanded.</p><p>“… Can’t remember. Help me up.” And now the pair of them were struggling, each too wounded to care properly for the other. Still, they somehow made it to their feet, both of them clinging to the cave wall.</p><p>Coyle only had eyes for Phyllis. “I was hoping we could talk,” he said.</p><p>“Mm…” It was difficult to know if she was interested or not with a comment like that.</p><p>“Don’t listen to him!” Thomas begged her. “Remember what we’ve told you, Phyllis! Don’t let him have control over your life! Think of Joseph!”</p><p>No emotion betrayed Baxter’s face. It was disturbing.</p><p>Coyle reached into his back pocket, and ever so casually pulled out another gun. Thomas thought for certain that Baxter would shoot it, but she did not.</p><p>He wondered if she even had bullets left… or was she playing Coyle, and working with a blank barrel?</p><p>“You betrayed me to the police,” Coyle mused.</p><p>“Yes, I did,” she would not deny it.</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Because you’re evil,”</p><p>“Am I?” He didn’t seem so certain, which was laughable because he was arguably the evilest man that Thomas had ever met in his life…. And he was the son of Nathaniel Barrow. “Just because I don’t feel? Or am I simply different? Unburdened.”</p><p>“Human emotion is not a burden, it is a guideline for a normal society,” She replied. It was remarkable how calmly they were speaking, like they were taking tea at a café instead of facing off with guns in a bloodied cave hall.</p><p>“Normal is just a word,” he wouldn’t be fazed by her rhetoric. “There is no such thing as normal. As society. As goodness. That’s what I’ve learned,” and it was terrifying to think where he might have learned it from.</p><p>“You’re sick Peter,” she said, which ran the gamut as the most obvious statement of the year. “You weren’t like this before you went to the hospital. Before they changed your medicine.”</p><p>“Medicine…” and perhaps that word of all the others made him angry. “I will not be dumbed down for others comfort.”</p><p>Instead of having a continued discussion on what comfort and medicine meant, Baxter changed the subject entirely. Her tone shifted; she became more soft, almost weak.</p><p>“How many people have you killed, Peter?” She whispered.</p><p>He raised his gun, his aim firm on her forehead. “More than you,” was his cold reply.</p><p>And in that moment, Thomas knew she had no more bullets left. That the one bullet she’d spared to shoot the gun out of Coyle’s hand had been the final one. That she could not save herself, and she was about to die.</p><p>Christopher saw the panic in his face, the cold-blooded realization that all his worst fears were about to come true. And maybe he remembered that Thomas could not let Baxter die. That she was the most important thing to him in all the world. Or maybe Christopher just had a death wish and didn’t care anymore. Maybe he’d decided that dying in this cave was the last thing he was going to do.</p><p>He bolted; hand firmly latched onto Thomas’ wrist. The resulting tug was so strong that Thomas had no choice but to run flat out. Christopher smashed into Baxter, taking Thomas with him, and the three of them were now running for their lives, taking off down a side wing of the cave even as Coyle shot three bullets after their retreating backs.</p><p>“Come on!” Christopher roared, running even faster.</p><p>“Where are we going?!” Thomas shouted; his only light came from the cavern they were leaving behind. They were slowly but surely slipping into the dark.</p><p>“We can’t go out the front, there’s no cover! We’ll be torn to smithereens!” Christopher shouted from the front, “We can’t go out the back, we don’t have the key! There’s only one route we can take!”</p><p>“I’m out of bullets!” Baxter cast off her gun; it was as good as lump of rock now.</p><p>Christopher grabbed both Thomas and Baxter by the shoulder, shoving them down an even narrower path so that they were now forced into a one-man formation with Thomas at the back and Christopher at the front. If O’Brien and Coyle were behind them, he had no idea. He could see light up ahead, which was a godsend because he was essentially running blind. When they burst into a massive cavern with a high ceiling, Thomas was momentarily taken aback.</p><p>The whole scenery had changed. It was like they were in a different cave entirely.</p><p>Coyle’s men had gutted the original mine, and any semblance of normalcy or humanity had been taken with it. This chamber however had remained untouched, perhaps because of how dangerous it was. A huge waterfall crashed over the edge into a bottomless pit where just the slightest hint of a river could be seen below. The sound of water was deafening, the amount going over akin to a landslide. Lamps had been hung in this place long ago, and scaffolding was draped all over the cavern like men had been trying to revolutionize this river before they’d been forced to give up the ghost. It was the most dangerous of all; one slip down… and you would not come back up.</p><p>“What is this place?” Thomas wondered.</p><p>“It’s our way out,” Christopher declared, which made Thomas’ stomach sink. “If we can make our way down the side, using the scaffolding, we can reach the river below and swim out.”</p><p>“One wrong move and we’ll die,” Baxter said. “And that’s white water down there! We’d drown in the attempt to swim!”</p><p>“Oh I see, do you want to go back out the front and get turned into swiss cheese?” He gestured irritably at the bullet in his bleeding shoulder.</p><p>“You’re both too wounded to do this,” She said.</p><p>“We don’t have a choice!” Christopher replied.</p><p>Thomas knew it was the truth. The moment of no return was upon them. They had no time to prepare, no time to figure out how to get down or where to go. Each path was as dangerous as they last, honestly, they were more safe just jumping from the cliff and falling into the river. At least that way they wouldn’t hit the rocks or the scaffolding.</p><p>But even as they began to try and pick a route, the sound of voices and footfalls echoing in the tunnel stunted them. Coyle burst from the gloom, O’Brien right behind him though she was still clutching her wounded side and pale from blood loss. She eyed the rapid water and the slick cave walls with fear; Coyle on the other hand hardly seemed to notice it.</p><p>“There’s no where to run, Petal,” Coyle said. And indeed, the bastard was right. They’d officially come to the end of their escape.</p><p>Baxter looked over the ledge, down at the water that fell into darkness. They could hear rapids but could not see them. It was impossible to know how deep the water was, or what direction it took.</p><p>“You’re out of options, and bullets,” Coyle said.</p><p>Baxter slowly looked back around at Thomas.</p><p>She offered him her hand.</p><p> </p><p>He knew what she was saying; what she was implying they must do. There was no logical way to get past Coyle or O’Brien when they had a gun. The way down was a death sentence, even with the meagre hope of being carried to safety by the water. They’d come to the end of the line, and as a result they were now left to haggle with the awful burden of understanding their lives were over. Inside of her, a tiny fragile life continued to grow, completely oblivious to how awful things were about to get. Somewhere out there in the world, perhaps not too far, the loves of their lives were probably looking for them. He could not imagine the pain Joseph Moseley would endure.</p><p>And Richard…</p><p>It had been nice, he reasoned, to know a great love if only once in his life. To have a day in the sun after years in the rain. Maybe it had helped him to soak it in more. To realize just how lucky he was. Thomas had never expected to find a great love. He’d dreamed, yes. He’d hoped. But it hadn’t seemed plausible for men like him to know happiness. But he had, if only for a moment. He’d known happiness in that basement when Richard had kissed and held him.</p><p>That was as good as it got.</p><p> </p><p>He took her hand in his own, squeezing it tightly. He turned to Christopher, offering his other hand so that he might take it too.</p><p> </p><p>Now they were chained linked, each other’s fate tied to their own.</p><p>“I’m not running, Peter,” Baxter said. “And I’m not dying by your hand either.”</p><p>“Then what is your solution?” He asked.</p><p> </p><p>Her solution did not have to be spoken. It was implied in how she dipped her head in farewell. In how she smiled, relaxed, already having accepted her fate.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Baxter turned, taking Thomas and Christopher with her, and jumped.</p><p> </p><p>They screamed, each of them crying out at the top of their lungs as they dropped like a stone into darkness. The water rushed around them, blanketing their voices, swallowing them up, choking them with sediment. By the time they hit the bottom, Thomas could not tell what was bottom anymore. Only that it was cold, wet, suffocating, and dark.</p><p> </p><p>His last thoughts were of a jar of buttons on his bedside table.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>She’d seen it happen, but it had not seemed plausible. The way that Baxter had turned and jumped into the dark, taking Barrow and Webster with her. They’d all fallen together, vanishing, and yet for a moment she’d still sat there waiting for Barrow to reappear.</p><p>For a moment, Sarah simply allowed the events to wash over her, the newfound reality hitting her one piece at a time.</p><p>“… Are they dead?” She whispered.</p><p>Coyle said nothing.</p><p>Nervous, she inched her way forward and peeked her head over the edge to see nothing but black. Their screams had been swallowed up by the rushing river. She could not see the bottom, or any sign of life therein.</p><p>“No one could have lived through that,” She wondered. “We need to check the bottom, though.”</p><p>“There’s no way down but to jump,” He mumbled. He sounded so lost… so… cold.</p><p>She turned and found him bleak, not even looking at the spot where the love of his life had taken her own.</p><p>“It’s over now,” He murmured.</p><p> </p><p>For a moment, neither of them spoke. This had been the end goal, after all. For Baxter to die, and hopefully Barrow with her. But in a way, she’d been holding out, hoping that somehow it would all be resolved and Barrow would still be alive. He’d known her secret, he’d threatened to tell, he’d gotten in her way every minute of the day… but he’d also been a constant reminder of her past.</p><p> </p><p>“I thought I’d feel peace,” He mused.</p><p>“Do you?” She asked.</p><p>“I feel nothing… just as I always have,” and this, above all, seemed to terribly disappoint him.</p><p>He turned to her, business demeanor back. Whatever tiny glimpse of humanity she’d just witnessed within him was smothered by his formality.</p><p>“This is where we part ways,” He said. “Do what you want.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of dirty pounds. He handed it to her. She took it, counted it, and found that one hundred pounds were stuck together with blood and muck. It was a tidy sum, enough to get her out of Downton and to wherever she needed to go next. She could not fathom all the lying she would have to do now. How would she explain her absence, and Thomas’ death? What about Baxter and Moseley? They’d all think she was involved in it somehow unless she managed to rig it in her favor.</p><p>“I have to get back to Cora,” She thought of her, weeping alone.</p><p>“What will you tell them?” Coyle asked.</p><p>“That I saw you kill them,” it seemed as good enough of a lie as any. “That you wounded me when I tried to help them. That’s all I can think of at this point. What will you do now?”</p><p>He didn’t seem to know either. Without a woman to pursue, his life had lost all meaning. He stared out over the waterfall, wondering at how it had taken her life.</p><p>“I think I’ll sit here for a while,” He finally said. “My men are dead. No point in me staying here… I’ll leave the cave… you tell the coppers this is where it happened. It’ll back you up. But that’s the end of my favors for you.”</p><p>One could not expect more from a man like Coyle. He’d already been generous with her.</p><p>She folded up the money, her sin payment, and pocketed it. Holding her wounded arm, she left Coyle in that cavern only to pause at the door and say: “I’m sorry.”</p><p>He did not reply, and she staggered away.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The sound of sloshing water was methodical and soothing, but it did nothing to conceal the pain radiating from Thomas’ ribs.</p><p>He was freezing cold, more so than he’d ever been in his life. His toes and fingers felt numb. He opened his aching eyes, seeing nothing but stars above him. As more details slowly came, he noticed a tree branch swaying in the wind. A hint of cloud and snow.</p><p>He was outside. But where?</p><p>He rolled his head upon his shoulders; each joint and fibre of his being screaming with protest. There, to the left, he saw Phyllis Baxter laying on the muddy embankment of a river. She was as ghostly pale as her underclothes, her lips blue with cold and her eyelids growing purple.</p><p>“…Phyllis,” he croaked. He coughed again, sludge in his mouth, and rolled onto this bruised and swollen side. His ribs gave a pang of protest, furious at his repeated abuse. He reached out, taking her in his arms, and rolled her back and forth to wake her. The stones of the riverbank were sharp beneath his kneecaps. “Phyllis get up,” He said. “Get up.”</p><p>She groaned, shuddering upon the ground. As she opened her eyes, she was lethargic; she seemed to be having trouble coming to her senses.</p><p>On Thomas’ other side was Christopher. The more that he sat up and looked around, the more he realized what was happening. Their leap should have been a death sentence, with a river taking them through a cave and out into the world. Instead, they’d been left to die of hypothermia upon its banks. This was a slower, and ultimately more painful death.</p><p>“Christopher,” Thomas reached on his other side, patting him in the face. Unlike Baxter, he opened his eyes almost immediately and sat up. After a lifetime of pain and suffering, he knew how to endure the punches.</p><p>“Fuckin’ hell,” He wondered, looking out at the wilderness around them. “Where the fuck are we?”</p><p>“Do you know?” Baxter slowly sat up, shivering violently. She’d freeze to death at this rate, with hardly any clothes on and wet from the river.</p><p>“No…” He’d never been to this part of the forest before. “I don’t know anything. We can’t be out of Grantham though, surely.”</p><p>“We’ve g-got to f-find s-shelter,” She began to stutter, her teeth clacking. “We’ll f-f-f-f-freeze to death.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Those first staggering steps were the most painful by far. They could not stand up straight at first, and ended up falling into each other and the trees. Each touch of bark was like that of a knife on their hyper sensitive skin. The snow was like lava. Soaking wet and close to death, they had no choice but to keep going forward, following a path that had once been lain down by people on a trail. If anyone wanted to kill them, now would be the time. They were utterly defenseless, unable to protect themselves from attack when their focus was solely on finding shelter.</p><p>They passed by a broken down wagonette; if it wasn’t snowing, they might have been able to use the depleted wood for a fire. But being outside in these conditions was tantamount to suicide. They needed something ironically like a cave; even when they’d been tied up and beaten almost to death, they’d at least been warm.</p><p>Twice, Thomas fell into a tree and simply had to stop and stand for a moment. He was pulled brusquely along by Christopher, who kept a stiff pace though he was shaking wildly.</p><p>“Come on,” he’d only say, “We can’t stop yet.”</p><p>And when Christopher had taken the lead for their group, he’d ended up holding both Baxter and Thomas by the hand; had he let them go in that moment, they might have died in the snow.</p><p>So when he stopped, they stopped.</p><p>Christopher was craning his neck, looking at something deeper in the woods.</p><p>“Am I seein’ things?” He wondered aloud. Thomas squinted through the snow to see a strange shape. It looked a bit like a hay stack covered in snow but… not quite. More angles and less round. Whatever it was, it wasn’t a tree.</p><p>It had a door.</p><p> </p><p>“…What is that?” Thomas asked.</p><p> </p><p>Christopher was the one to approach, his knife out and his fists up ready for a fight. As he took the rotten door in hand, he pulled it open to reveal an old hunting cabin. It was pathetically small, maybe meant for one man and his dog, but no one had been there in years possibly even decades. The roof had all but fallen in with snow, and the furniture was rotten. There was a firepit, but it was full of ashes.</p><p>Still, it would do.</p><p>The three of them entered, and Thomas dropped to his knees to begin hauling ashes out by hand. The movement made his ribs throb, and he stopped, in pain.</p><p>“You alright?” Christopher grunted, breaking what once would have been the lone chair so that they could used the legs and back as fuel.</p><p>“Think I’ve broken ribs,” he admitted. “An’ them some.”</p><p>On the wall, a shelf held up a few tinned cans of old goods. Baxter swept them off with a shaking hand and ripped the shelf from the wall so that it came clean away. She gave the wood to Christopher, who began piling it in the emptied grate.</p><p>He pulled out his lighter, tried to use it, and found it ruined by the water.</p><p>“Damn,” Christopher cursed. He tossed his lighter aside and began to make a tinder by scratch. Crouched on the floor like a madman, he rubbed two tiny splinters together, trying to catch shards of wood on fire. It was a fool’s errand.</p><p>Baxter was rubbing her chest, trying to warm herself. “Tomorrow the sun will rise, an’ we’ll be able to guess which direction we’re facing.” She said. “There’s several rivers in Yorkshire but only two flow through Downton. Ure and Swale… which one is this… that’s the question.”</p><p>“Money’s on Swale,” Christopher grunted, still working with the tinder. Thomas found his own lighter inside his vest pocket; his cigarettes were ruined but his lighter might still work. He began to try and light it, his abused thumb biting with pain each time he dragged it over the flint.</p><p>“Thomas, think of any of the maps you’ve seen of Downton. Where does Swale go?” Baxter asked.</p><p>It was hard to recall by memory, save for vague direction. “Northern edge,” he mumbled, still focusing on making fire. “Northeast to Southeast… makes a bit of a dip in the middle. And the estate is to the Southwest.”</p><p>“Alright, so tomorrow morning we get the fuck out of here and go Southwest,” She decided.</p><p>“I like your enthusiasm,” Christopher paused mid-strike of the tinder, “Thinking we’ll live.”</p><p>“We’ll live,” She said.</p><p>“Why? Because you command it?”</p><p>“Something like that.”</p><p>“Bossy little broad, isn’t she?” He looked over his shoulder at Thomas. “That’s why I prefer sweet little sugars at you, you never bark orders at me.”</p><p>“Bit of a fool’s errand,” Thomas muttered, for Christopher did as he liked, full stop.</p><p>“This bossy broad just saved your life,” she warned. “And don’t get sweet with him, he’s not for you.”</p><p>“Oi,” Christopher snapped. “Don’t presume to talk to me about my relationships, we’re not friendly like that. The only thing you’ve done is given me hypothermia and got me shot!”</p><p>“Oh I’m sorry does it hurt?” She mocked him in a baby voice, her lips pursed like she were a toddler. “Let’s go back to the cave and Coyle will let you sleep on a nice warm bed with a bowl of soup to eat. Or maybe we can go find Richard in Downton and he can warm you up with a nice knuckle sandwich.” </p><p>As if sparked by Christopher’s irritation, Thomas’ lighter finally lit. He gasped in delight, nearly sputtering the flame out, and quickly put it to the old wood so that it lit. With a fire finally going, all three of them crowded around the meagre stove, each wanting to get warm. Thomas let Baxter sit in the middle so that she got the most light, wanting to keep her baby safe.</p><p>“Don’t argue please,” he bade them both. “We’ve barely survived this night, and I don’t know what time it is. Morning could be hours off… Let’s just sit here, and warm up, and try not to die.”</p><p>“Amen to that,” Christopher muttered. “But I still contend I can beat Richard in a fight.”</p><p>Baxter shuddered with relief, the going fire now beginning to truly warm her bones.</p><p> </p><p>They were silent for a while, each of them occupied with merely keeping warm. The fire grew stronger, and their aching bones were soothed. Thomas and Christopher shed some of their clothes, trying to dry them as best they could. When the cabin was warmed enough, they even moved around and searched it from top to bottom for something supplies. Unfortunately, the most they could find was a few old, tinned cans of fruit and a container of dog food that no one would dare to eat. The fruit, however, was deemed useful if only that it might make them warm up quicker. They warmed the tin cans by the fireside, waiting until the juices bubbled before using tiny bits of unused firewood as makeshift spoons. It was as if they were on a camping spree, crowded around a cozy fire and eating peaches.</p><p>“… It’s been nearly ten years since I’ve killed like that,” Baxter mused, sucking on the piece of wood thoughtfully.</p><p>“It never leaves you, once you’ve done it the first time,” Christopher agreed. “It’s always there in the back of your head, that little voice saying you could.”</p><p>“I always killed for him,” She agreed. “Now, I’ve killed because of him. I suppose the stench of that sin will rot alongside my bones while I’m in hell.”</p><p>“Nah…” And for all their spats earlier, Christopher showed her incredible tenderness in his voice. “Killin’s not a sin. Not like what we did tonight.” When no one made to agree with him, he continued on. “Murder… murder’s a sin. Cold blooded, vile murder. An’ that’s what they were gonna do to all of us. But you, you stopped them from murderin’ us,” He gestured to her with his own makeshift spoon. “That’s all you were doin’, Petal. You were stoppin’ our murders. An’ when I broke out of jail, I was stoppin’ those coppers from arresting any more men like me. Like Thomas.”</p><p>“And the whiskey run gone bad?” She asked. It was funny, to recall the details from that article so long ago. It felt like a lifetime since it had run in the paper.</p><p>“I was just tryin’ to get away,” he shrugged. “Runnin’. I didn’t want to kill them. I didn’t like doin’ it. Coyle…he likes doing it-“</p><p>“No,” she shook her head, “No, he doesn’t like anything. He doesn’t have emotion. He doesn’t experience joy, or hate, or discomfort, or anger… nothing that makes us human.  He’s detached from all of it.”</p><p>“That’s not normal,” Thomas mused.</p><p>“No, it’s not,” She set her finished tin of peaches aside and cast her spoon into the fire. It was soon swallowed up by the hearty flames, crackling merrily with the rest.</p><p> </p><p>They’d done a lot of talking about Coyle over the past months. He’d always been this enigma, a boogeyman hiding in the shadows. They’d seen him on the night that Mason had died, but never after that. O’Brien had always been the more present threat. But now, Thomas found himself captivated by the figure of Coyle. Of how he seemed to be without emotion. Without the ability to even feel pain or fear. And as he looked at Phyllis, a woman he loved and respected, he could not reason how the two had once been one. How had Phyllis come to love such a man? To lay with him, and nearly bear his child?</p><p>“Phyllis, why did you fall in love with him?” He wondered. “Why when he… Why.”</p><p>It seemed no one had ever asked her that question before. Like all unanswered riddles, the reply was one long pondered over. When she had examined the question from every angle, she finally deemed a response ready but… Thomas could tell she wasn’t content. It seemed that she, like all the rest, was unsure.</p><p>“He wasn’t always like this,” she finally began. “He was sharp an’ vindictive, yes, but not like this. A bit like you are, that’s how he was at first. But unlike you, he had problems. Serious problems. He’d go through these phases where he’d completely lack emotion… he was inside his own head. He had these elaborate fantasies about other worlds… if he was more inclined to the arts, he could have been a writer. He was just… he couldn’t connect,” She seemed to have trouble putting the words right. “His parents were concerned, they thought he was mentally ill.”</p><p>“I wonder why,” Christopher muttered nastily.</p><p>“So they took him to this hospital in Leeds. But that place wasn’t about healing, it was about pain and suffering. To them, Peter wasn’t sick. He was just evil, and no amount of arguing would change their minds. So they punished him like he was evil. They shocked him, they beat him, they starved him, they put him in these ice baths till he nearly died but… worst of all…” she paused, her tone quivering.</p><p>“Worst of all were these… pills. They were small and blue… I didn’t know what was in them. All I know is that when he took them… he turned into an absolute monster. I later learned they were full of mercury.”</p><p>“Jesus Christ,” Christopher groaned, massaging the bullet hole in his arm. He had no idea what taking mercury could do to you, but he had a feeling it wasn’t good. “No wonder he’s off his rocker.”</p><p>“What do you think is wrong with him?” Thomas asked.</p><p>“I don’t know,” She admitted. “I don’t think it was so bad at first, I mean yes he was grouchy and a recluse but… he loved me. We were happy together. We were normal. I can admit that something in his brain wasn’t quite turned on right. Or maybe it was turned on, and we’re all th eons who haven’t got the switch flipped.”</p><p>“Mabye it’s both,” Christopher said.</p><p>“But those pills… those pills are the reason he is the way he is,” She warned. “His murderous streak, his cruel edge. All of those are the mercury pills. And the doctors that did this to him, will go unpunished. They’ll be rewarded as saviors in the medical community… and no one will ever know how they destroyed a man’s life.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It was terrible to think about. To imagine that Peter Coyle might have once been a normal man. It brought back strong memories days when Thomas had injected himself with dirty saline in an attempt to stop having feelings for men. He imagined Peter, swallowing pill after pill, praying that one might make him feel. Make him ‘normal’. He wondered, if Baxter had not saved him, would that have been how he’d turned out?</p><p>But then, Thomas knew how he’d turned out. He’d tried to kill himself a year later.</p><p>The door creaked, and all of them jerked about in a panic. When it turned out to be nothing more than the wind and the wood, each of them let out a breath of relief and returned to their fire. It served a point though; they were in grave danger, lost in the woods.</p><p>“I wish we were home,” Thomas whispered, thinking of his warm bed, and Richard’s arms… of Mrs. Patmore’s gingerbread and a hot bath.</p><p>“… We have to get back to the abbey,” She finally said. “As soon as possible.”</p><p>“Maybe we should go out tonight?” He wondered.</p><p>“We have no protection,” She said.</p><p>“…We have each other.” And that seemed to touch her, to remind her that not everything in life was bad. “That’s all we’ve ever had, when you think about it.”</p><p> </p><p>Christopher examined himself, patting down his body. “I’m dry. Are you?”</p><p>Thomas nodded. He felt as cozy as ever, despite the fact that he’d been beaten to a pulp and his face was green from bruising. He looked to Baxter, who was undressed and frankly a mess with makeup and blood smeared all over her face. If she went out into the snow with no clothes, she’d die. It didn’t matter if she was dry or not.</p><p>The only cloth in the hut came from the mattress which was devoid of any blanket or cover. Thomas took Christopher’s razor, and began to cut the mattress open till the springs were visible. Like peel a banana, he ripped the cover off the mattress so that it pooled on the floor. Cotton and fluff filled the air, drifting about like snow. Christopher helped him, the pair of them making quick work of the task till they had all the fabric they were liable to get without further dismantling the springs. They were rusty and looked liable to give disease if touched.</p><p>Like some queer cloak, they wrapped Baxter up in the ruins of the mattress. She was the warmest of all of them, her body protected by the fleece of the inner padding. She was a far cry from the beauty she’d been that morning.</p><p>The last leg of the chair, which was to be used as their makeshift torch, was padded at the top with scraps from the mattress. Tying it all off with a bit of jute from the old food cans, Christopher stuck the torch in the fire to light it. It caught, and now they were prepared to go out into the night.</p><p> </p><p>“You do realize, if we don’t make it back… we’ll probably die tonight,” Baxter warned. “It’s too cold out there, we can’t survive for long.”</p><p>He nodded.</p><p>“What about me?” Christopher asked. “What do I do? Where do I go? I have nothing now.”</p><p>But this was nonsense. Thomas would ensure Christopher’s safety, even if Richard didn’t like it. “You’ll go with us. And we’ll find a way to protect you,” He swore.</p><p>“…Alright. Let’s go,” Christopher said. It seemed that, like any lover, he took Thomas at his word and did not question why.</p><p> </p><p>And so out into the woods they went, each of them now guarded from the cold, with a torch held aloft to lead the way. Had anyone been watching, they would have seen nothing more than three specks flitting into the night, swallowed up by snow and wind. The only trace they left behind was a cabin now warmed, a rotting door groaning softly in the wind…</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. The Gift of Grief</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sarah O'Brien returns to Downton Abbey, and promptly spins a yarn so severe the whole house is left in tatters. In lieu of answers, Richard reacts poorly and Moseley turns into a tower of strength.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter is going to be a bit different in feel, and I apologize for that. I was diagnosed with Covid last week, and have been battling through it all while writing this chapter. I got it from my mother, who in turn got it from a man that turned out to be a super spreader who lied about his symptoms. My whole world has been brought to a pause as I try to keep my body in good enough health to continue forward. I fear, at times, that my brain fog has resulted in this chapter not being written to the same standards that I usually do. I really hope that is not the case, but I am unsure. I will keep you updated as I progress along, but I think that I am hopefully on the other side of it now. My mother and I are still alive, neither of us have had to go to the ICU. Any thoughts or prayers you can offer are heartily appreciated. Please keep my family in your thoughts.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Getting out of the Grantham Mines and heading back to Downton Abbey was not something that Sarah relished doing, particularly in the freezing wind and snow, but if she was to make her story work then she’d simply have to muscle through the difficulties.</p><p>The weather was getting worse, a surefire sign that winter would be unrelenting. What Coyle decided to do now was his own business, but she didn’t envy him in his quest for shelter that night. Even if Baxter and Barrow now dead, the mines were no longer safe. Soon, the police would come sniffing him out, and then where would he run to?</p><p><em>It doesn’t matter, </em>she thought, staggering through the snow. Her toes were freezing in her worn boots. <em>He’s not my problem anymore. </em></p><p>Perhaps it was the weather, the near-death experiences, or the fact that she’d been stabbed several times in the past hours, but all Sarah could think about as she hurried along was Cora.</p><p>She’d sworn that their liaison was over, that their love was finished after the way that Sarah had finally retaliated against Barrow all those days ago. The question remained, would she hold to her guns and keep Sarah away when she knew that Barrow and Baxter were dead? Perhaps in lieu of her grief, she might like Sarah back in again. Perhaps there might be a way forward. Her memory was becoming swampy with rosy visions of years gone by when Cora had lain like an angel in her arms and slept till morning. She could remember a particularly beautiful night; Lord Grantham had been up north with his cousin in Scotland, partaking in a stalk. Cora had been alone in her marital bed, until Sarah had joined her and made love to her all night.</p><p>Why now was she thinking of these things when the events had happened ages past? Was she really in such dire straits?</p><p> </p><p>The sight of Downton Abbey was practically a mirage of heaven, anything to get out of the cold and the wind. She picked up the pace, stumbling along as she clutched her bleeding arm. As she walked, she tried to go through the rigmarole of what must come next. She would have to put on a convincing act if she were to get the others under her guise and judging by the police cars in the driveway, she would have company.</p><p> </p><p><em>I have done nothing wrong, </em>she told herself, though this wasn’t entirely true. <em>I’ll pretend that I saw- no- I heard Baxter and Barrow calling out for help. I recognized their voices and followed till I came to the mines. And that’s how I found them… yes-! </em></p><p> </p><p>She staggered up to the front door, leaning on it for a moment to get out of the wind. The growling iron face of a wolf gnawing on the leg of a lamb put a pit of dread in her stomach. She’d never been fond of those knockers.</p><p> </p><p>“Open the door!” She railed as hard as she could against the weather-beaten wood. “In the name of God, open the door!”</p><p>As she continued to hammer and beg, she thought through her story.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I was going to the village for a drink. I was angry. When I heard the sounds of voices, I was confused. I followed them, that’s all there is to it. Don’t give away too many details that you’ll have to remember. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The door opened to reveal Carson, his portly belly protruding into the snow before the rest of him. Scandalized at her wounded state, it robbed him of his usually stiff upper lip.</p><p>“Ms. O’Brien?!” He was defenseless, and she eagerly shoved past him to make it into the warmth and the calm of the entrance hall. Her thoughts, in that moment, were only of Cora. Of how beautiful she’d often looked in the summer of their youths, and how heartbroken she’d been when she’d betrayed her promise to keep Thomas’ secret safe. In that moment, after everything she’d endured that night, she needed to see her once more. To know that she was well, safe, and whole.</p><p>She ran for the library door; she felt certain the family would be inside.</p><p>“O’Brien, stop!” Carson shouted after her. It would not be enough to contain her.</p><p>She burst into the library, and found it host to a whole assortment of people. Her heart fell into the pit of her stomach at the sight of half a dozen police, each more incensed than the last. There, on the couch, was Cora. She sat next to Lord Grantham both amazed and horrified by the sight of her.</p><p>She wasn’t the only one who was shocked. Mrs. Hughes was there, baffled as to how Sarah had somehow come through the door with stab wounds and blood all over her tawny day dress. The Bates’ were there as well (my god did they ever stop sucking up to the family?), as well as Lady Mary, Branson, and all the rest. She could not fathom why the whole host of them had stayed up to learn into the welfare of Barrow and Baxter (well, Moseley, she supposed). It wasn’t as if the half of them had cared about them during life. But now, with the idea of grief swimming above their heads, they’d all banded together to weep and wail like a bunch of banshees.</p><p>“Sarah?!” Cora rose up from the couch but was kept still by Lord Grantham who held her back by the arm.</p><p>“The police-!” she was putting on the biggest theatrics of her life, well aware that any slip up in her story now could spell disaster. She staggered over to the first policeman she saw, a forced crazed look in her eyes as she grabbed him by the upper arms and shook him. “Coyle-!”</p><p>“Steady on woman, you’ve been injured!” The man tried to get her to sit down in a day chair, but she forced him off.</p><p>“Listen to me-!” She ran to the next policeman, rather enjoying spurring them all up. It was funny, to get their attention onto her. To pretend that she was so terribly distressed when in truth she was mirthful. She had one hundred pounds in her pocket, and the only person who knew her most shameful secret was dead.</p><p><em>How could you say that? </em>A bitter voice, the very last strings of her conscience, held her to accord. <em>How can you be glad that Thomas was dead? He was your friend. </em></p><p>But in that moment, Sarah resolved to herself that she had no friends. That she had only herself to save her from this sticky situation so she’d best milk it for all she could.</p><p>“What on earth happened to you?” A second policeman tried to hold her still, and accidentally pressed on a knife wound. She yipped in pain, jerking back from him. Just to truly soak it up, she groaned, clutching her bloodied arm tightly to her chest. She all but swooned, nearly falling into a day chair that was forced under her by yet another policeman.</p><p>“Quiet!”</p><p>The voice of command came from an older man, bearded with epaulets of great gold detail. This man seemed to be in charge somehow, for by his request each policeman fell absolutely silent so now there was only Sarah’s panting and the family’s hysterical whispering. The leader of the police abandoned his map of Grantham village, coming around the table where the family was normally served tea and biscuits to size her up.</p><p>“What is your name?” He asked her. A peculiar thing to start their conversation off with, to be sure. Maybe an air of familiarity had served him well in the past with others.</p><p>Ignoring his question, Sarah decided to continue spinning a yarn. The more dazed and confused she appeared, the more likely that they wouldn’t hold tiny slip ups of details against her. Clutching her wounded arm, she groaned, “Coyle… I saw… Coyle. I… I followed Coyle. Coyle-“</p><p>“Where?” The leader asked.</p><p>“Mines,” Coyle would no doubt have fled by now, he’d assured her as such. “I think… Looked like a mine…”</p><p>“Can you put it on a map?” The leader took up the map of Grantham county, and forced it under her nose. It crinkled and bent, old musty paper popping with dust.</p><p>“Maybe…” But she pushed the map away. Now wasn’t the time for maps, but for theatrics. They still didn’t know that Barrow and Baxter were dead (and if she truly cared for their welfare, it was the first thing she’d have wanted them to know). “You don’t understand. You don’t understand-!”</p><p>She staggered up from her chair, still clutching her arm. “It’s too late! Too late- “</p><p>But even as she tried to spin her tale, she was confronted by the chief.</p><p>“Who are you?” The man demanded. “What is your name?”</p><p>“O’Brien,” She said. The chief did not look pleased; was her name known to him.</p><p>“And how did you come to see and follow Coyle on such a dark night, Ms. O’Brien?” the chief asked.</p><p>“And what were you doing out there?” Lord Grantham interjected, angry.</p><p> </p><p>She was in danger of losing her narrative. Furious at being put on the spot, she bit out at all of them not caring who her venom touched.</p><p>“Oh forgive me for living and breathing,” She cursed. “If I wanted a drink while all of you went to a wedding I wasn’t invited to, is it such a crime? I heard their voices callin’ in the wind as I walked, I would recognize Barrow everywhere. He was callin’ out for help so I followed and came upon the mines. I could hear Baxter yelling too-“</p><p>“What do you mean, too late?” Mrs. Hughes interjected. She, above all the others, was frightened. It made sense, she supposed; Mrs. Hughes had always taken a shine to her staff, and for whatever reason after 1920 she’d had a bit of a soft spot for Barrow.</p><p>Treating it like an opera, Sarah grew still and somber, taking one step forward away from the police, and then another. Soon, she was in the middle of the room, with all eyes upon her. Summoning up all the emotion she could (which wasn’t much), she pretended to grow weepy and misty eyed. To be choked up by the memories of what she’d endured. To spur her own, she remembered things from her past that blinded her with grief. Of Ashima’s murder, and of the way that her charred flesh had remained like a stench upon the air for days after.</p><p>“… There… There was a cliff,” she coughed, her throat dry and hoarse from running through the snow. “I… I saw Barrow and Baxter. They were… They were trying to…” but here was where she needed to be absolutely careful with how she told her story. “He was going to shoot them. He was going to kill them. And…”</p><p>Everyone was stricken, waiting with bated breath as she spoke. Anna had a hand to her throat, her normally angelic face devoid of blood. Cora’s hands were white knuckled upon her beaded shawl.</p><p>She looked to her love, in that moment, and spoke to her directly.</p><p>It hurt to lie to her, but only a little bit.</p><p>“…She said, ‘I won’t die by your hand’.” Sarah whispered. “I tried… I tried to help them. Coyle, when he realized I was there, he attacked me. Stabbed me,” And she let go of her bloodied arm to show a palm full of red to the room. “I thought they’d run. I honestly thought they’d take that moment and run for their lives!” and she tried to assume the countenance of rage. Of disbelief. “I wanted them to run, I wanted them to take that moment and flee! But… But Barrow couldn’t… He was in terrible shape. Tortured, near to death. And Baxter wouldn’t leave him. Maybe they even wanted to help me, I’m unsure… it… it was so difficult… I thought I’d… I couldn’t…” She grew silent, touching her forehead with bloodied fingertips as if on the verge of swooning.</p><p>After a moment, the police chief said, “Take your time.”</p><p>She swallowed, dropping her hand, and returning her focus to Cora. There were thick tears on the verge of dropping down her beautiful cheeks. It seemed that she had already put two and two together.</p><p>“Coyle was going to shoot them both,” Sarah continued on. “He discarded me, tossed me off like a rag doll. I thought I’d bleed to death on that mine floor. Coyle was pointing his gun at them, on the verge of that cliff. She just kept saying ‘we won’t die by your hand’. And then…” she shuddered, really soaking it up.</p><p>“and then…” and just one more time to try and make it count. It felt like a wave of victory, with the sensation of foreign tears dripping down her own cheeks.</p><p>“She jumped,” Sarah croaked. Cora shuddered aloud, now weeping herself.</p><p>“She jumped and Barrow…. Thomas…”</p><p>Mrs. Hughes clapped her hands to her mouth. The more time passed, the more people were beginning to cry. But who were these tears for? Surely not Thomas, or herself. It must all be Baxter, she mused.</p><p>“He fell with her,” She finally said. And this, at least, was the truth. They had all fallen together, she reasoned, and their bodies were probably a mangled mess upon the rocks.</p><p>“I… I called out his name,” and maybe she had, in her own head. It had been Thomas’ death to rattle her the most, after all. “I… I kept… I thought he’d call back. I couldn’t see over the edge, on the floor. And Coyle just… stood there like…a…” She couldn’t find the word to describe him.</p><p>“Coyle turned on me,” She said. “And I knew he was going to kill me, because I was the only one who’d seen anything. So I… I don’t know I… I just got up from the floor and I ran. I heard gunshots, I think maybe I’ve been shot, I don’t know. I just kept running and running. I don’t know how I escaped. I think maybe he… maybe he just gave up the ghost. Maybe he got what he wanted.”</p><p>And it was true, that after Baxter had fallen to her death, Coyle had grown most peculiar in his mannerisms.</p><p>The chief of police had his eyes narrowed, wary of her story. He wasn’t the only one; Sarah recognized Willas in the crowd, the only policeman she’d ever known personally while staying at Downton (due to the Bates). Both he and the chief were staring at each other, sizing the other up and her story. The family was distraught, each of them holding onto one another. Cora was crying openly, with Lord Grantham holding her. Anna certainly wasn’t holding anything back, with Bates taking her in his mighty arms. The only person who refused to be consoled was Mrs. Hughes. Despite how Carson tried to give her comfort, she kept putting off his embrace. It was like she couldn’t bear to be touched by him. As if somehow, Thomas’ death had spurned her into a dark and ugly place.</p><p>“Show me where,” A random policeman urged the map upon her once again. “Do you know where you were? Can you show me?”</p><p>With a trembling finger, Sarah pointed to the Grantham Mines.</p><p>“You’re certain?” A second policeman urged. She nodded, not looking at either of them.</p><p>The chief took control again, snatching the map from his fellows’ hands and rolling it up into a thin tube. “Then we go. Now!” He barked. They all followed out one another, grabbing their coats, hats, and guns. “Now! I said move it you slackers!”</p><p>Yet even as the police piled out the library door, each of them running like the devil were at their heels, the chief turned and regarded Carson.</p><p>“Get a doctor for O’Brien,” he nodded to Sarah. “We will be back. Do not give up hope, there may be a chance they’re still alive!”</p><p>But Sarah shook her head. No… no she knew good and well that both Barrow and Baxter were dead.</p><p>No one could have survived that plunge. And perhaps, with luck, some of the policemen would die too tonight. They certainly were no match for Coyle, even if they outnumbered him.</p><p> </p><p>As the last policeman left, the library was left in a terrible swelling silence. Sniffling and weeping overtook the air; even Lady Mary seemed distraught which was laughable because she never showed a hint of emotion.</p><p>Sarah felt like an outsider more than ever as they all grieved with one another. Lord Grantham, the bitter ruler of his unhappy castle, rose up on aching legs looking like a man twenty years older.</p><p>“Robert-“ Cora choked, trying to take him by the hand. He put her off, gentle as he rubbed at her shoulder and neck.</p><p>“… Let me be the one to tell him,” he finally whispered. She supposed that the ‘him’ must be Moseley; she could not imagine what it must feel like, to marry the love of your life (your pregnant love at that) and to lose them on the same day. She wondered if this would be what would finally break the man’s unshakable resolve to believe in the good of man.</p><p>She knew it would certainly do it for her.</p><p>As Lord Grantham left, sagging with each step he took, Anna shuddered and quaked in her husband’s arms.</p><p>“It was her wedding day,” Sarah heard her choke out. Bates caressed her head, hiding her face from the world.</p><p>“I know,” he whispered in her ear. “I know.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It felt rather like the night that Lady Sybil had died, if he was completely honest with himself… or a mix of that and the night when William had been taken under fire. Charles’ face felt hot and flushed, his mind full of O’Brien’s insidious words.</p><p>It was no surprise that she had gone to get a drink while they’d all been at the wedding; in a way Carson felt rather bad for her. He wondered how wretched it would be, to be so outcasted from the house that you weren’t even allowed inside the confines of the church just to watch the ceremony let alone take part. The real issue though was that no one had even though to look for her when they’d first returned back to the house. They’d been so wrapped up in tending to one another’s wounds, in trying to make heads or tails of what had happened, that none of them had once considered going upstairs to check on O’Brien. She’d been an afterthought, if even that.</p><p>Now, Charles’ conscience was squirming with the knowledge that had it not been for the household pariah, none of them would have ever known what had happened to Barrow and Mrs. Moseley.</p><p> </p><p>He led Lord Grantham downstairs, his head swimming as if with a type of brain fog. Mrs. Hughes, Anna, Bates… they all followed behind. What would the others think when they saw the tears on their faces?</p><p>What would Moseley do?</p><p>As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Charles was greeted to the sight of the servants all clustered around one another. With Anna and Bates back, they were welcomed openly into the arms of their companions.</p><p>“Anything?” Daisy whispered. Anna stood beside her, rubbing her soothingly upon the back. Her experience as a mother over the past year had honed her ability to calm even more so than normal.</p><p> </p><p>“Lord Grantham,” Moseley wiped at his eyes repeatedly, trying to dry his face. At his arm stood his father, supporting his son endlessly. At his other side stood Richard Ellis; they’d formed a queer companionship that night. Charles knew very little of their relationships, if anything… but Barrow and Mrs. Moseley had shared a deep kinship, and Ellis had always been fond of Barrow. Perhaps that was where Moseley liked him from.</p><p>“…Joseph, I need to speak with you. Alone,” Lord Grantham never called a servant by their first name. It was a mark of how serious the matter was, that he did so now.</p><p>“May I be there too, M’lord?” Moseley senior asked with a wheeze.</p><p>Lord Grantham looked from Moseley to his father, then to Charles who nodded in support.</p><p>“…Yes. Yes, I think you’d better,” Lord Grantham said.</p><p>“Please use my office, M’lord,” Carson said. He supposed it was back to being his office now if Thomas was truly dead. It made his stomach twist into knots, to think as such. The police had warned him not to expect to get Thomas back alive, had told him that Coyle liked to play with his food and had no reason to let Thomas live…. But a part of him had thought that maybe the boy would wriggle out of it like he’d always done in the past.</p><p>It seemed that, for the last time, Thomas had come up against a force he could not budge.</p><p>Charles watched as Lord Grantham led the way. Moseley and his father followed, the three of them a funeral procession for all the goodness and light that had inhabited the downstairs in the past years. The death of Phyllis Moseley was unthinkable. He did not know how any of them would ever recover.</p><p>Mrs. Patmore, nervous at the sight of Lord Grantham’s misery, approached him and whispered, “What’s happened, Mr. Carson? Has there been any news?”</p><p>He regarded his staff, all of them watching in terror. Daisy and Andrew, so young and so full of promise. Richard Ellis, who despite not being there long had come to nestle his way into the very heart of their family by befriending Thomas… how would they all react, he wondered?</p><p>“… O’Brien returned to the house,” Carson said.</p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean, returned?” Andy asked. “I thought she was already upstairs.”</p><p>“So did I,” he agreed. “But it seems she went out for a drink while all of us were at the wedding. This whole time, she’s been running for her life through the snow. She’s wounded, we’ll have to call the doctor for her-“</p><p>“Wounded how?” Daisy asked.</p><p>“ She was attacked by Coyle, I am afraid,” Charles said. “She saw Coyle with Mrs. Moseley and…” he paused, unsure of how to say what must be said.</p><p>“Are they okay?” Andrew asked.</p><p> </p><p>He bowed his head, let out a tiny breath, and said, “… No Andrew. They’re both dead.”</p><p> </p><p>Down the hall, in Carson’s office, a scream of utmost anguish filled the air.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It was unnervingly quiet in the hall.</p><p>You got this sort of quiet upstairs all the time. The family would take their tea, go to bed, and the whole house would shut down… but it was always noisy downstairs or in the attic. That was where the people were. That was where the humanity was in the house. Not with the family… the staff.</p><p>Richard sat amongst all of them, lost in his own world as the events played out around him.</p><p>Someone called Dr. Clarkson; he didn’t know who did it and he didn’t care.</p><p>Someone brought Moseley back into the hall; he didn’t know who did it and he didn’t care.</p><p> </p><p>Inside of him, a terrible grief had risen. A grief far greater than any he’d ever known in his life. And maybe, in his own foolishness, he’d thought that grief would be vocal. That he’d scream and cry like Moseley had done in the beginning. That he’d weep like Daisy or Anna. But he did none of these things, perhaps because he simply didn’t have anything left inside him.</p><p>He’d known, from the moment that Carson had said that O’Brien had returned to the house. She’d won… she’d pulled something, and she’d gotten Coyle to take Thomas and kill him. And now, as Richard sat ballless in the basement, utterly plugged out of any avenue forward, he knew that there would be no revenge to take on her. She knew his secret, and could still destroy his life or so she probably reasoned. What she had no way of knowing was that she’d already ruined it. That there was nothing the police could do, nothing that could be found in Bedlam, that would compare to the emptiness within him.</p><p>To the knowledge that, once again, his life had turned into a fake of someone else’s. That he no longer had a purpose anymore.</p><p> </p><p>He could recall during his time in the regiment how before great battles there had always been an unnerving quiet. Afterwards too, you’d have this aching emptiness in the valley that was smoking with holes from canons and tanks.</p><p>That’s what it felt like  now.</p><p>Like there was simply nothing left for the earth to feel anymore. Like their loss had been the loss of everything. The total and utter eclipse of the rest. And with it gone, there was no point in fighting. No point in trying to squirrel out O’Brien or beat Coyle.</p><p>With Thomas dead, none of it mattered. Not a drop, not an inch.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>As Dr. Clarkson tended to O’Brien above, Richard had to wonder who had wounded her. He kept imagining for whatever reason that it must have been Thomas.</p><p>How would it have happened, that’s what he wondered as the others mourned. His brain was feverish, pulsing with ideas.</p><p>The word was that O’Brien had said there was a mine involved. Maybe that’s where they’d been taken. She’d probably tried to off him quickly, and Thomas had fought back with a knife. Yes… that seemed right. But then there was that trollop of dropping off a cliff. Cliffs, mines, what did it matter?</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Somehow, it had all come to pass, and Richard had been stuck in this fucking basement. He wanted to burn it all down. He wanted to go upstairs, find O’Brien, and break her neck. But there was no point now, was there? Not a point at all.</p><p>In his minds eye, that’s all he could fathom. All he could think. That none of it mattered anymore. This numbness must be a stage of grief, that’s what he reasoned. This was a stage, and the emotion would come soon. He did not know what would happen when it did. If he would kill O’Brien… if he would burn down the abbey.</p><p>He supposed it didn’t matter either way.</p><p> </p><p>The sound of a new voice niggled at Richard to pay attention; it was hard to pull himself out of his malaise.</p><p>He looked up, exhausted, and saw Dr. Clarkson at the base of the stairs. There was blood on the cuffs of his sleeves; he was wiped out. Carson was speaking to him, alone on his feet.</p><p>Richard did not know if he would ever be able to stand again. It seemed like an impossible amount of energy, and what for? What was the point of standing anymore?</p><p>“…Dr. Clarkson,” Carson paused, only to fall quiet. It seemed that he did not know what to say anymore.</p><p>Dr. Clarkson regarded them all, his lips pursed with strange dissatisfaction. Richard could not gather himself fully; he felt numb and detached from the world.</p><p>“Her wounds are deep, but she should heal in time,” he said, speaking directly to Carson. “She was stabbed multiple times in her left arm; I believe she was trying to protect her chest… her story and her injuries are consistent.”</p><p>This seemed to be damning evidence to Carson; maybe he was hoping and praying that Clarkson would somehow appear and say ‘she’s lying’. To confirm that her injuries were accurate with her story only more solidified what must have happened.</p><p>For a moment, there was absolute quiet. Clarkson was struggling, wrestling with the knowledge of a doctor and the conscience of a man. He’d taken a vow, promised not to reveal things on pain of losing his practice, but tonight was a night where exceptions had to be made.</p><p>The weight of an elephant was resting on his chest.</p><p>“…I normally don’t say anything like this,” Dr. Clarkson folded his arms over his chest, disappointment oozing from his every pore. “I don’t know why I’m saying it now. I took a vow. But I think it’s important that you know what I’m about to say, in lieu of everything. So much so, that I’m willing to break my vow.”</p><p>Carson seemed to be breaking into a cold sweat. Richard could sweat, he could hear the man’s heartbeat from across the room.</p><p>Even still, he was numb to it.</p><p>“Y-yes?” He’d never heard the man stutter before. He’d certainly never known him to be nervous. But whatever Clarkson was about to reveal seemed to have so rattled the man that he could scarcely hold his breath.</p><p>“What Mr. Mason said, the night of his death, to Thomas Barrow,” Clarkson said. “What he told me he was going to say, at any rate, to convince me to come down and fetch him.”</p><p>It wounded Richard so much to hear the man’s name that it felt like a punch to the gut. He bowed over, bracing the back of his chair with fingers clenching the head tight.</p><p>He could not help but remember, in that moment, the very tiny things that had so captivated him about Thomas. His piercing blue eyes and his lips are red…</p><p>As red as…</p><p>Richard slowly let his hand drift to his pocket, wherein he found the remains of his handkerchief slightly smudged from the fire. He gently pulled it out, his heart stopping at the red of the lipstick he saw.</p><p>It made him sick to his stomach.</p><p> </p><p>Carson was waiting on a tenterhook, shuddering at the knowledge Clarkson was about to unfold. </p><p>“He said that Thomas needed to know you <em>loved </em>him,” and it was clear in the term how little Clarkson thought of the idea. “He said, <em>he’s needed to hear it for years.”</em></p><p>At this, Clarkson pursed his lips and slowly shook his head. It was as if he was disgusted by the idea.</p><p>Carson was trembling; Richard could see it in the tips of his fingers. He could not imagine what the man was thinking. What ideas were flashing through his mind, memories from long since passed. For Richard, he could only think of how Thomas had seemed so reluctant the morning of the wedding. How he’d been so exhausted by Carson’s unrelenting badgering.</p><p>“I shouldn’t have let him do it,” Clarkson muttered.</p><p>This, more than anything else, struck Carson. His reproach was physical, a slight shift in his stance.</p><p>“Why?” He asked, wounded.</p><p>But instead of comforting the man or giving him any type of gentility or understanding at all, Clarkson looked at Carson like he was an idiot.</p><p>“Because I didn’t think it was the truth,” Clarkson said. Carson shuddered. “And I didn’t think then or now that Thomas needed to be treated in such a way. I thought he’d already dealt with enough, where you were concerned.”</p><p>There was something in the way Carson looked at the man, like he’d been slapped. For a moment, Richard almost felt sorry for him.</p><p>Almost.</p><p> </p><p>Clarkson looked to Moseley, his gaze softening. All sympathy which he would not show to Carson, he instead showed to a man now denied both a wife and a child. It was an inconceivable loss. A horrific one.</p><p>“Mr. Moseley, I have a sedative for you,” Dr. Clarkson pulled it out of his pocket, a bottle of pills in hand. “I want you to take it, to try and get some sleep.”</p><p>But he did not reply. Instead, Moseley simply sat and kept his hands folded before him.</p><p>“No thank you,” he finally replied. “I’m waiting.”</p><p>Dr. Clarkson did not make to push him any further than he was willing to go. Perhaps after seeing so many people suffer through grief and tragedy, he knew better than to make a fuss.</p><p>In an act of support, or maybe a bit of exhaustion, Richard sank down in his chair next to Moseley. He was both moved and surprised when Moseley reached him out and took him by the arm in a show of brotherly affection.</p><p>“…He’ll come back,” Moseley croaked. How Richard wished he could believe him, but a terrible little monster inside his mind was niggling at his courage, warning him that he might never see Thomas again.</p><p>In his fist, he’d crushed his handkerchief, so that Thomas’ faded lipstick had stained his palm.</p><p>“Phyllis… she’ll come back,” It was remarkable that he could say her name without weeping. “I know she’ll come back.”</p><p>It would have been grand, to hold such courage in his own heart.</p><p>Dr. Clarkson tipped his head to Moseley, re-pocketing his sedative. But just as he made to turn and leave, he paused to watch Mr. Carson reach out and touch the back of the butler’s chair.</p><p>Once upon a time, this had been his seat. But now, in this awful hour, it did not seem that Carson was reflecting upon his own responsibilities. Instead, he seemed to be yearning for something, as if wishing that he could look back into the past and see something he might have missed before.</p><p>If Richard had known him for a stranger, he might have mistaken Carson’s expression for grief.</p><p>“…May I have that sedative, Dr. Clarkson?” Carson asked, looking back around. “only…”</p><p>At first, Dr. Clarkson seemed bitter. Then, he gave it up for lost and reached back into his pocket to offer Carson one white pill from the bottle.</p><p>“I don’t blame you,” Clarkson mused. “Not if Mr. Mason was right, in any accord, but straight to bed when you take this. It kicks like a mule.”</p><p>Carson stared at the pill in his hand, stroking it with his thumb. Then, he slowly let go of the chair with his other hand, fat fingers trailing upon the aged wood.</p><p>As he passed by, Mrs. Hughes reached out and gently took him by the arm to pause him.</p><p>“…Charlie…” She reached up to stroke him tenderly upon the neck and shoulder. She tried to comfort him as best she could, but he was inconsolable in his own way.</p><p>“You bear witness to the greatest mistake of my life,” he mused softly to his wife. Then, he somberly retook his seat in the butler’s chair. It was less of a throne and more of a prison. Mrs. Hughes watched him, tears sparkling in her eyes.</p><p>Dr. Clarkson left only but after giving Mrs. Hughes the pill bottle before doing so, and silently pointing to Mr. Moseley’s back where he could not see. Mrs. Hughes nodded, pocketing it.</p><p>He left without another word, vanishing up the stairs.  </p><p> </p><p>With the departure of Clarkson, a fresh wave of misery fell upon the scattered staff at the table. Daisy and Andy, normally the more spirited of their bunch, were overcome with grief.</p><p>“I can’t…” she sniffed, fat tears rolling down her plump cheeks so that the top of her rounded stomach was stained. “I can’t even understand it.” She looked to her husband and the father of her child. “She was in so much danger and… and I never even…”</p><p>At this, Andy could hardly offer consolation, “This place…” He gestured about for his wife. “It gives you a sense of security. But all it is, is stone.” And it was true, Richard thought. They’d all been foolish to believe that just because Downton was made of stone that it meant they’d all been safe.</p><p>“We should have been prepared,” she bleated, more tears spilling down her cheeks. “We should have done something!”</p><p>“Daisy, there is nothing you could have done to help her,” Mrs. Patmore cut her off. She was as good as the girl’s mother, despite there being no relation. In this moment, her sway over Daisy came less as a domineering force and more as the voice of reason.</p><p>“You gave her a beautiful wedding,” she massaged Daisy’s shoulders with her meaty fists. “A beautiful day. An’ if she were here still …she’d…” but then Mrs. Patmore choked up, her own emotion overcoming her. “She’d tell you how proud she was of you.”</p><p>Daisy leaned into Andy, taking comfort from his presence.</p><p>Across the table, next to Richard, Anna Bates clutched her stomach painfully tight with white knuckled hands.</p><p>“It’s a nightmare,” her voice was a hoarse ghost of its normal lovely lilt. “She was pregnant. Who could do such a thing to an unborn baby?”</p><p>“I can’t even fathom it,” Bates agreed.</p><p>“…He’s a monster,” She looked to him, “I thought Vera was a monster but now I know what a real demon looks like.”</p><p>“Christ, Vera was an angel compared to Coyle,” Bates griped. Whoever Vera was, Richard did not know, nor care to know. The more that the staff lamented the loss of Baxter, the more that Richard felt his anger begin to grow. No one had yet to mention Thomas.</p><p>It was like they didn’t even care.</p><p>“They will find him,” Mrs. Patmore sniffed, swallowing to better clear her throat. “They will stop him-“</p><p>“But what does it matter now?” Anna could not be consoled. “She’s dead! An innocent woman is dead, and so is her baby! Even if they find Coyle and bring him to justice, that won’t give us back Phyllis Moseley.”</p><p>Unable to refute this awful claim, Mrs. Patmore trembled and kept silent. For a moment, no one said anything; Richard wondered if Thomas’ name was going to be mentioned at all. When Mrs. Hughes began to speak, he had hope briefly. Then, she went and crushed his spirits yet again.</p><p>“…I was going to tell her how proud I was of her,” Mrs. Hughes wondered. “She’d grown so much. She was going to take over my position… My god, I was ready for it. I was ready to retire, and I never thought that I would be. But I trusted her. I trusted her more than any other.”</p><p>Which left only Mr. Carson to say a few words: “She touched us all. And now all we can do is remember her lovingly, with reverence.”</p><p>Silence fell again.</p><p>Richard sat and waited for what felt like ten minutes. He waited for anyone to acknowledge the elephant in the room. The chair in which Carson had decided to sit down. The fact that Dr. Clarkson had essentially drug him for filth in front of the rest of the staff and chastised him for not being kinder to Thomas while he was still alive.</p><p>When Richard realized that no one was going to say anything, foul words slipped from his mouth.</p><p>“Are you bloody kidding me?” He wondered aloud. It seemed that the emotion had finally arrived, washing away the numbness of grief.</p><p>The others looked up, shocked. Mrs. Hughes’ eyebrows were in danger of receding into her gray hairline.</p><p>“Mr. Ellis-“ but he cut her off. He was beginning to laugh, dumbfounded at the sheer nerve of it all.</p><p>“You’re all despicable,” he wondered, furious at the whole lot of them. “You know I thought I knew shoddy workmates in London, but this really tops the cake. Two people were taken tonight, lest you forget. Two people were killed. And yet you can only think of good things for one. And you wonder why he never liked you lot, or rolled out the red carpet? You wonder why he never let you get close? Christ, you people don’t even care that Thomas is dead-“</p><p>“That’s not true,” Bates warned. “Not at all.”</p><p>“Liar,” Richard wouldn’t believe it.</p><p>“I’m not lying!” And that, more than the fact that he was refusing to grieve for a man he’d known nearly two decades, seemed to really get under Bates’ skin. “Thomas died protecting her. That’s the way he would have wanted to go. He had a difficult existence, it’s over now. We should be grateful for that-“</p><p>“Grateful?” He demanded, irate.</p><p>Next to him, Moseley took up his arm, trying to sooth him. Trying to remind him that now was probably not the time to rise to the battle. “Richard-“</p><p>He jerked out of his chair, seething. “You want me to be grateful that he’s dead?”</p><p>“That’s not what I said-“</p><p>“That’s what you meant!” He couldn’t stand it. Why wouldn’t they just come out and say the truth; what did it matter now? The man was dead!</p><p>He gestured to all of them, his arm movements wild. Maybe this was grief. Maybe it was plain madness. Maybe, after months of thinking that he had a chance for knowing a life with meaning, he’d just reached his breaking point.</p><p>“Why are you all like this?!” He demanded, slamming his fist to the table so that several cups and saucers full of cold tea rattled. “Why are you so mean to him? Why are you so unfeeling and unkind?! Why can’t you understand that he needed you! All of you!” He pointed to each of them in turn.</p><p>But they weren’t grasping the situation. They didn’t believe him.</p><p>“What, because of something that he did twenty years ago?!” It was so ludicrous Richard wanted to scream. “Are you insane?! Are you so vindictive and petty at heart that you think of him a villain for something he did when he was still practically a teenager!? That you can’t look past his mistakes and see who is was on the inside?!”</p><p>“Mr. Ellis,” Mrs. Hughes rose up from her seat, haggard and exhausted. “Richard… it’s late. Today has been, to date, the worst day of our lives. We need to sleep. <em>You </em>need to sleep,” But when she made to touch him on the shoulder, Richard shrugged her off.</p><p>“And you-“ he stepped around Mrs. Hughes, honing in on Carson with all the force of an aggravated bloodhound. “You are the worst one of all!”</p><p>Carson flushed an ugly red in his cheeks, eyes widening at Richard’s mutinous tone. “I wish to god I had a word for how I feel about you, but I can’t seem to sum it up!” Or maybe he could, but it was just too laden with expletives to be said in a room full of women. “Mason…. Mason should have been the one to live,” it felt good to burn Carson. To make him look small and weak. “You should have died instead!”</p><p>“Mr. Ellis!” Mrs. Hughes cried out in shock.</p><p>“Because who he really needed was a father-“ he just steamrolled right ahead. “A kind, loving, understanding father. That’s what Mason gave him! That’s what he really needed! The man was two minutes from dying and yet he still was able to do what you could not. No pish water from him- what was the best he could get from you? Oh ‘well done polishing the silver for the fifteenth time today, you didn’t manage to fuck it up that much, you almost did an adequate job!’ “</p><p>“Your anger is not helping,” Carson growled.</p><p>“I’m not trying to help you!” How scornful, to think that he might still be under the impression that in this moment, his own comfort was all that mattered. The whole lot of them were insane! “You don’t need help! Look at you, you’ve got everything! Everything!”</p><p>And Thomas never would.</p><p>“All he wanted was the tiniest-“ he could barely speak for anger, pinching his thumb and pointer finger aggressively in Carson’s face.</p><p>“The tiniest bit of kindness! Just a little bit-“</p><p>“Then he should have given it,” Carson muttered, taking a bitter swig of tea from a cup that was surely cold.</p><p>“HE DID!” Richard roared, spittle flying from the corners of his mouth. Carson jumped at the height in volume. “He gave it and you never allowed yourself to see it because you didn’t care! Just admit it! Admit you didn’t care, you sorry old man!”</p><p>“Mr. Ellis-“ Mrs. Hughes had taken him by the forearms and was now trying to bodily move him away from her husband. “Mr. Ellis, you need to stop-“</p><p>“Admit it!” He jerked out of her embrace, back to shouting at the whole lot of them, a finger in each of their pale faces. “Admit it! Say you didn’t care! Say it out loud! He’s dead now, what does it matter? What are you afraid of?! That he’ll come back and haunt you? If that were the case, he’d be here riding his shoulder-!” Richard pointed to Carson.</p><p>Carson finally rose up, exhausted and furious.</p><p>“I will not tolerate this!” His meaty baritone voice filled the room like a trumpet from an unruly orchestra player. “You are not a member of this staff, not nearly in the way that we are. We have been together for a long time, Mr. Ellis, exceptionally long indeed. Decades! There is history piled up to the ceiling that you cannot see, and you do not get to be the authority to judge us and how we choose to grieve!”</p><p>“Oh, don’t give me that load of manure,” If this was the excuse Carson was giving, he’d have to get a better one and quickly. “He told me good enough what happened!”</p><p>“I’m sure he did,” Carson didn’t believe a word of it, sneering at the idea that Thomas would be open or honest with anyone. “I’m sure he made himself out to be a martyr, if only to gain a friend. A long-suffering individual who never did a harm. But the fact of the matter is that his loneliness was self-inflicted, and the reason we are not mourning him here tonight is because he was-“</p><p>And yet, even as Richard opened his mouth to start off another round of expletives and cruelties, a new voice came to his aid. From the mouths of the quaint and the easily flustered, came Joseph Moseley. The man who had, arguably, lost the most of anyone there that night.</p><p>“Stop it!” Moseley shouted, furious at Carson’s suggestion. “Stop it, Mr. Carson, you don’t know what you’re talking about!”</p><p>Mr. Carson was taken aback, shocked that a man normally so passive was now making a stand against his leader in a time of grief.</p><p>“The reason you’re not mourning him is because you’re an unfeeling, cruel, cold-“ He was so angry, so beyond the pale, that he could not contain himself from what came next. He got right up in Carson’s face, the pair of them practically nose to nose.</p><p>“You know, I look forward to the day you die. Because on that day, when you face God and all his host of angels, you’ll have to apologize to Thomas on your knees before they even consider letting you into heaven. And maybe then, just then, you might understand all the misery and hell you put him through.”</p><p>Silence fell. The others were too terrified to speak lest they be shouted at by Moseley, Richard, or Carson. For his own part, Carson’s fury was wholly focused on Richard, and he exacted it with such calculated precision that Richard could tell he’d done this sort of thing before.</p><p>“You are to leave in the morning,” Carson declared. “You are let go, without notice or a character-“</p><p>“You’re not the butler here,” He wouldn’t be moved by God nor man, not until he knew for a fact what had happened to Thomas. “You have no authority over me.”</p><p>“Thomas Barrow is dead,” Carson said it with such cruel finality that it was like a slap in the face. “I am the butler again until another one can be found.”</p><p>“Oh, leave him alone,” Moseley wouldn’t hear of it either. Carson was once again taken aback by the sheer cheek of the man.</p><p>“I thought you a kind man,” Moseley wondered, voice softer and yet somehow much more sinister than either Carson or Richard could pull off. Where the two of them were throwing fists, Moseley was now essentially throwing blades. Like the teacher he was, he cut right to the heart of the matter and exposed it for all to see.</p><p>“I thought you an understanding man. But I see now… I see what Phyllis meant when she said you were cruel to Thomas. I see what Thomas had to deal with for twenty years. I can’t imagine the pain he felt every day, having to sit at this table with you. I wish I could apologize to him.”</p><p>He returned to his seat, re-folding his hands before him on the table. Neither Carson nor Richard knew what to say in response. Carson was shamed, which was ideally what Richard had been aiming for but had never been able to hit. It seemed that it took someone like Moseley or Mrs. Hughes to really make Carson feel small.</p><p>Moseley patted the table next to where he sat, in front of Richard’s abandoned seat.</p><p>“Come sit with me,” Moseley murmured to a silent room. What could the man be thinking in that moment, to be so calm and collected when the rest of them were screaming their heads off. “They’ll come back, if you sit with me.”</p><p>But he couldn’t believe it. It was the lack of knowing which so distressed him and broke him. He wanted to have the sort of faith that Moseley possessed, to know beyond the pale that the love of his life would return to him. But the more that Richard though, the more that he was convinced Thomas had suffered some ungodly fate.</p><p>O’Brien had declared that Phyllis and Thomas had jumped over a waterfall into a bottomless ravine. He wanted to imagine that something had caught them below. Something like water…. But even then, they’d probably drowned.</p><p>His breathing was becoming erratic, he was on the verge of a panic attack.</p><p>“Think of what we know,” Moseley urged, back to being the teacher again as he looked up to Richard with burning eyes. “Think of what we’ve learned, Richard. Now ask yourself if you believe her story. If you feel it to be true. Feel it in your soul.”</p><p>He closed his eyes, transported to the very last moment that he’d seen Thomas.</p><p>He’d been a blur, running ahead of him, coat tails flapping in his own wind as he tried to get them to the safety of the Downton Village park.</p><p>“I don’t feel it… do you?” Moseley asked.</p><p>In his soul, did he feel it? Richard only felt fear. Terrible fear at the unknown, and a blind hope that all of this would turn out right. That any moment now, Thomas would come knocking on the area yard door, and be back in his arms once again.</p><p>“… No, it doesn’t seem right,” He said.</p><p>“He’s not dead,” Moseley was calm and collected, their unwavering center in the middle of a hurricane. “She’s not dead. They’ll come back.”</p><p>“But she said-“</p><p>“She’s a <em>liar,” </em>Moseley urged. “Sit with me. I need you.”</p><p>He could scarcely deny an order like that. Richard sat back down next to Moseley, drained from his emotional outburst.</p><p>Carson was left as the only person now standing, his threats defeated, and his anger left to sour away like curdled milk. Moseley’s bitter examination of his character had clearly shaken Carson more than Richard had thought possible. It was one thing to get shouted down by a man you hardly knew, but Carson and Moseley had clearly known one another for years. If Moseley thought his actions inexcusable, then Carson would simply have to accept that he’d acted out of turn.</p><p>But if Thomas was dead now, then there was nothing more to be done for Carson’s part. His chance to heal had passed. His chance to make amends was forever gone. He’d have to learn to live with that, on his own terms.</p><p>He turned to go, slipping past Mrs. Hughes even as she reached out to him.</p><p>“Charlie,” she pleaded with him. “Please, don’t be angry-“</p><p>He didn’t answer her, heading upstairs.</p><p>Mrs. Hughes was cowed, miserable at her husband’s moment of depravity. She slipped into her seat, rubbing at her brow.</p><p>Mrs. Patmore carefully stroked her shoulder, much like she’d stroked Daisy’s.</p><p>“They had a past, Elsie,” She whispered, so softly that it could scarcely be heard. “They had a past, and that’s all there is to it.”</p><p>She nodded, hesitant but grateful for her oldest friend’s undying support.</p><p> </p><p>After a moment of quiet reflection to ponder, Moseley finally said. “She’ll come back… I know she’ll come back.”</p><p>He looked to Richard, certain in his theory. “He’s stronger than Coyle. Coyle is evil but Thomas is well versed. He’ll have a plan, and even if it fails, he’ll come up with another one. And another one. And another one.”</p><p>He nodded in agreement.</p><p>Moseley returned his gaze forward, growing stony. “We don’t need Mr. Carson. We don’t need any of them. We know who we are Richard…. We know who we love.”</p><p>Moseley had no way of knowing what it meant for him to give such support. He’d felt so terribly isolated up until that moment. Like no one in the world had cared anymore that Thomas existed. That he felt pain. But to hear Moseley, perhaps the most morally righteous man of the lot, insist as such… it gave Richard comfort which he greedily craved.</p><p>He palmed his brow, wishing he could just fall asleep at the table. With his head bowed, he could keep the others from seeing the emotions playing across his face. The misery and the terror. His bottom lip quivered, in spite of himself.</p><p><em>You’re weak, </em>he thought bitterly. <em>You’re weak and you couldn’t save him. </em></p><p> </p><p>Next to him, Moseley took his arm and held it in a firm grip. If tears dripped down Richard’s face, Moseley didn’t breathe a word to the others.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It was a slow trickle after that. Carson first… then Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore. The others remained, unsure of what to do or what to say. Richard’s words seemed to have put an incredible sense of grief in them where Thomas was concerned that hadn’t been there originally. Maybe, now realizing that he was dead too, they were finally beginning to go through the stages that Richard had. Moseley senior finally had to admit defeat when the hour grew too late. He kissed his son chastely upon the forehead and headed to the attics, so old and pathetic that one good breeze might have knocked him over. Richard had to wonder, if in all the years of his life anything could top the wretchedness of this.</p><p>Daisy was deep in thought, her face ponderous and still. Next to her, Andy was stuck somewhere between misery and disbelief. Anna and Bates were much the same way; she kept touching her belly as if to confirm for herself that her own child was safe and alive.</p><p>Moseley was sitting, waiting… he did not move. He did not even seem to blink or breath.</p><p> </p><p>“…I remember he…” Daisy was pulling on a memory so long past that it actually brought the tiniest smile to her face. “Oh it, was ages ago. He danced with me.”</p><p>Anna looked up, inspired. “I remember that too,” and it was a wonder she could call on such a lovely memory during such an awful night.</p><p>There was no expounding on the memory for Richard’s benefit. No long-lost tale of a night far ago when Thomas had danced with Daisy in the company of others. Each of them was too busy thinking to speak, recalling something different.</p><p>Bates was the next to speak, though it certainly wasn’t about dancing.</p><p>“…He never told me,” Bates murmured. Anna looked round, somber. “Whatever the secret was, with O’Brien. He never said. Said he’d sworn it on everything he held dear, and he held to that. He was a man of principle even if we never understood what those principles were. Even Lord Grantham said so.”</p><p>Bates looked to Richard, and for the first time the man seemed slightly unsure. Almost a little weak, like he needed Richard to give him answers for his own emotional wellbeing.</p><p>“He was closest to you,” Bates said. “did he ever tell you what the secret was?”</p><p>Richard shook his head. Even if he had, it wouldn’t have mattered. O’Brien had had them pinned with their secret.</p><p>Silence resumed once again.</p><p> </p><p>Bates was growing morose. He bowed his head, burying it in his hands. Moseley still did not move, but his eyes were beginning to burn with an inner desire to know. It was the soul of a teacher, asking for answers in a time of senseless violence and tragedy.</p><p> </p><p>“…He was a clock maker,” Moseley whispered. He said it as if it was an astounding fact to consider. “His father was a clock maker, Phyllis told me so. All the men in his family were clock makers. He ought to have taken up that trade, by the rights of our land. I always wondered why he became a servant. And then I learned the truth about him. What he was. What the world saw him as. It suddenly became obvious to me, why he hated being a servant. He was practically forced to do it. Into this life of servitude.” He looked up to the others, wondering at each of them in turn. “Can we really blame him for despising it? Every day, he woke up to the reminder that he’d been robbed of his true inheritance. His passion. His heart. I felt the same anger too before I became a teacher.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>And then, Moseley finally asked the question that no one else dared to. Finally voiced the thing that needed to be said.</p><p>“If only Carson had shown him the barest bit of fatherly affection,” Moseley pursed his lips. “That’s all he wanted. Was it so much to ask?”</p><p>“…Maybe it was because he was a homosexual,” Bates mused. “Maybe Carson just couldn’t get passed that-“</p><p>“He was a human being,” Moseley ground out, voice quaking with inner rage. “He had a soul, and a spirit, and every day that Carson didn’t treat him as such he squashed out his empathy and kindness. We all saw it… how mean he could be. Christ we were such fools.” He even laughed a bit, though none of this was funny.</p><p>“…Richard I’m so sorry,” Moseley finally said. He looked away, unwilling to face any of their eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Moseley tried to touch his arm again. Richard pulled away from his grasp.</p><p>He was ready to give up, he knew that now. Well and truly beaten, it did not matter if Moseley had kind words or if the others were finally showing their grief. It was over, he reasoned. The weight of his grief would crush him eventually and it did not truly matter when.</p><p>“…You were close, weren’t you?” Bates spoke up.</p><p>Richard did not answer him. There was no point, anymore.</p><p> </p><p>The entire lot of them slipped into silence again.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Richard slipped into an uneasy sleep, sitting upright in that rickety old servant’s chair. In his mind, images of Thomas consoled him in the dark.</p><p>It wasn’t the fanciful imaginings that a romantic might have conjured up. Just the tiny things that only Richard would have truly noticed… the way that Thomas’ mouth quirked a bit when he was concentrating. The tiny purple circles beneath his eyes. The way that his fingers would twitch nervously when he would shuffle a pack of cards. Richard dozed, remembering how he’d clean silver in the pantry. How he’d keep tally on that damnable day planner of his.</p><p>And then the buttons… and the lipstick stains. The fragments of a relationship that ought to have been so much more. The one great love that could have gone on and on forever if only they’d been allowed to enjoy it.</p><p> </p><p><em>Life is hell, </em>Richard decided, even as he slept. <em>Life is hell and there is no changing this. </em></p><p>But life hadn’t been hell, at least not when Thomas had been near. And now that he thought about it, there was so much left open to debate that really ought to be challenged.</p><p>Such as his relationship with Carson.</p><p>In Richard’s dreams, his emotions were fluid, as well as his grief. He could see Carson so well in his mind’s eye, wailing for the loss of a son he’d never truly had in the first place. But there was a rigidity to real life, he knew that well enough. And that rigidity held stories he’d never truly know. Not now that Thomas was gone.</p><p>Why hadn’t Carson cared for him? Had it really been because Thomas had been queer, or had there been more to it?</p><p>But Richard was too tired to think it through. Too caught up with the ennui of conversations they’d never had, of places they’d never visited together. If only Thomas were still alive, he’d have taken him to York again. He’d have taken him to a place where they could have danced without fear. Or maybe even London, to places where they could have explored their bodies together.</p><p>Maybe they could have gone to America together and seen New York City. They could have drunk themselves stupid, complained about how brash and vulgar Americans were, and gone to sleep in one another’s arms.</p><p>They could have star gazed on the roofs of a skyscraper. Richard had never seen one.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Bang! Bang! Bang! </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>His eyes popped open, still half-focused on a dream he hadn’t really even been having. Had that been knocking at the door? No… not knocking. Banging. Hammering, frankly.</p><p> </p><p>At first, Richard thought he hadn’t heard right.</p><p>Side by side, he and Moseley waited with bated breath, their ears pricked for the sound of hammering at the door. When it came again, it was so loud and so certain that I could not be denied or put asunder.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Bang! Bang! Bang, bang, bang, bang! </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>He clambered from his chair, legs shaking and pulse beginning to hammer again.</p><p>“Is that the door?” Anna was groggy, coming to and groaning as she rubbed at a kink in her neck. “What time is it?”</p><p>“Phyllis-“ Moseley blurted out, staggering from his chair. He did not make it three feet before Bates was there, holding him back.</p><p>“Wait, wait-!” He urged, “Let me… it may not be her.”</p><p>So now the pair of them were hanging onto one another, staring down the darkened hallway to the area door, wondering who was on the other side.</p><p>Bates took one step forward, then another. From his trouser pocket, he withdrew his aged pistol, hammer cocked and finger on the trigger.</p><p>A scraping of chairs rang in their ears; everyone was getting up, coming around to stand at the entrance to the hallway. Daisy was clinging onto Andy’s arm. Anna had her hand at her throat.</p><p>Everyone was waiting… waiting.</p><p>Bates was far too slow for Richard’s liking.</p><p>“Who is it?” He called out, his voice loud and echoing. “We’re a house in mourning. We’re not taking visitors.” And at this, he even pointed his gun at the door like he thought someone might try to barge through. “I warn you, I’ve a gun on you-“</p><p><em>“Open the sodding door, you miserable little cripple!” </em>it was the voice of an angel, even with all the cursing and the howling. <em>“We’re freezing to death out here!” </em></p><p>There was only one person on earth that would refer to Bates by such malicious terms. Bates whipped around, eyes blazing as he looked at Richard.</p><p>They all knew that voice.</p><p><em>“Please!” </em>and there was the other, high pitched and shrill. <em>“Please let us in! It’s us!” </em></p><p>Richard and Moseley practically bowled Bates over, splitting apart so that they rushed past on either side of him only to rejoin together on the other side. He could not process a single articulate thought, his brain merely chanting a mantra on repeat: <em>Thomas, Thomas, Thomas. </em></p><p>He’d prayed, he’d hoped, but he hadn’t dared to imagine it truly possible. To think that he’d fallen from a cliff and yet had somehow survive- even as he scrambled at the door with Moseley, he had to wonder, what if it wasn’t Thomas on the other side?</p><p>What if this was some sort of foul ploy by Coyle to break into the house?</p><p>But even if it was Coyle, even if he was on the other side with a gun to Thomas’ temple and trying to force his way inside, Richard could not find it within him to care. So dire was his desperation to see Thomas again, to hold him in his arms, that he was willing to take the bait and bite the bullet.</p><p>Moseley wrenched the door open, letting in a stream of snow and wind. Out of the darkness, pale arms and wretched faces appeared, wrapped in a gauze of what looked like the shell of an old mattress.</p><p>“Joseph-!” Phyllis Moseley had certainly looked more lovely in her life, that was for certain. She was bruised and bloodied, with a cut on her face and her hair in a sopping frozen mess around her ears. Her makeup had been rubbed off by water and dirt, so that her whole face was a shade darker with mascara than it out to be. Her wedding dress was gone, her new garments now the remainders of some peculiar quilt. Muddy and beaten, she scrambled for the arms of her husband to find refuge there; they were wailing, the pair of them weeping like fools as they held one another.</p><p>“Thank you, god, -!” Moseley howled, his voice so loud and strained that Richard felt sure he might wake up the whole house. “Thank you for my deliverance!” And at this, he wept into the neck of his wife, holding her so tightly that she might never be made to let go.</p><p>He ought to have been glad to see her alive, to smother her with affection and glad tidings just as the others were now doing. Instead, Richard hungrily sought the form of the man that staggered in just behind her.</p><p>The sight of Thomas Barrow forced all breath from his lungs, like he’d been sucker punched in the stomach.</p><p>Where Phyllis was dirty and wretched, Thomas was broken and bruised. His face, normally angelic and porcelain, was now several shades of purple, green, blue, and brown. His left eye was nearly swollen shut, his mouth split with dried blood on his chin. But he was alive- alive-!! No matter the rest, no matter the pain or turmoil, there was breath in his lungs and a heartbeat in his chest. How much more could Richard want for, after a night spent in misery thinking his beloved dead.</p><p>“Richard-!” Thomas was the first to reach him, desperately seeking him own with broken and bloodied hands. They collided into one another, even as Phyllis and Moseley staggered around the hallway, weeping and toppling.</p><p>“My god, what happened to you-?!” The others were focused on Phyllis, trying to pull her inside, trying to get her warm. No one was taking notice of Thomas. No one seemed to care that he was in far worse shape than the bride. Richard cupped Thomas’ face in his hands, mindless to whether or not the others were watching. “What did he do to you?”</p><p>“Oh Richard-“ Thomas’ swollen lips were aching with each word they spoke. “I hurt so badly…”</p><p>“Jesus God- God!” He could not help but curse, crushing Thomas to his chest again. “God I thought I lost you-“</p><p>He could not focus on anything else, was too taken up by the sight of Thomas alive in front of him.</p><p>“I thought I was going to die-“</p><p>“what happened to you?” He’d been beaten within an inch of his life, but there was more. There was a terror in his eyes that Richard had seldom witnessed before. Something had happened tonight to shake him up, probably Coyle’s raving lunacies. He would have to be protected and healed till he was strong enough to stand on his own again.</p><p>And yet, even as Richard held Thomas to his breast and began to list off a litany of saints and spirits that he might thank for this incredible stroke of good fortune, a third figure entered the area door.</p><p>Unlike all the others, who were blissful and relieved, Christopher Webster did not look entirely happy. Like always, there was a wary edge about the man; he half expected to be snapped at, and despite it being frigidly cold outside was wary to enter fully into the hall. It was impossible to say how he’d come to be at Downton but judging by the blood pooling on his shirt sleeves and the way he looked like he’d been beaten, it seemed that he too had fallen victim to Coyle. Perhaps, in their escape, Thomas and Phyllis had managed to save Christopher as well.</p><p>But Richard did not want him in the house. He did not want him anywhere near Thomas, not when he was a maniac with his obsessions.</p><p>“What the bloody hell?!” He knew it a poor idea to shout in close quarters, particularly when he was holding Thomas so intimately in his arms, but he could not contain himself. He wanted the others to see Christopher. To be wary of him, just as he was.</p><p>“Richard-“Christopher shut the door to the outside, cutting off the snow and the wind. “We meet again. Unfortunately.”</p><p>That was certainly a word for it.</p><p>“Who the hell is this?” Bates demanded, gesturing to Christopher. He raised his hands in mock defense, but Richard knew better.</p><p>“He’s a goddamn criminal is what he is,” Richard held Thomas tight to his side.</p><p>Andy, having been at the back of the cue and tending to Baxter, saw Christopher and did a double take in shock.</p><p>“You-!” He pointed a vindictive finger. “He was there that night on the wagonette-!”</p><p>And yet, just when it looked like Christopher was about to be ganged up on by a hoard of angry and overly emotional servants, his saving grace appeared in the form of Phyllis Moseley. She swooped down upon Andy, pressing a dirtied hand over his mouth to silence him before he could start shouting and crowing.</p><p>“Shh!” She snapped; her voice much too harsh for her normally delicate disposition. “Hush, I say. All of you… hush…” And from each person to the next, she pointed a finger in warning. Silence fell at her command, the others sweating and frightened.</p><p>“Where are the others?” Phyllis whispered. “The family? The rest of the servants?”</p><p>“Upstairs asleep,” Anna said at once.</p><p>“Let’s keep it that way,” she urged. “Our guest here is a wanted criminal; the police think he’s in league with Coyle.”</p><p>“And is he not?” Richard demanded.</p><p>“I am proof that he is not, Richard,” the way that Phyllis said his name was so accusatory and cold it rather made him feel ashamed of his own malice. Perhaps it was misplaced; he was oversensitive, hyped up and exhausted from the entire night.</p><p>“He saved our lives,” Phyllis told the others. “All our lives. Without him, we’d be dead.”</p><p>“But… but-“ Anna was still struggling with the entire affair. “We need to wake up the house. Dr. Clarkson is upstairs-!”</p><p>“I’ll get him,” Andy made to leave, but Baxter grabbed him tight by the wrist, holding him down.</p><p>“No!” She urged. “No, do nothing. Say nothing-“</p><p>“What?!”</p><p>“Please, listen to me!” Baxter waved them all for silence; in Richard’s arms, Thomas was swooning. He looked close to fainting, his eyes closed, and his lips parted in soft pants.</p><p>“All of you, we have to be quiet for our own safety,” Phyllis explained. “You’re in grave danger.”</p><p>But danger had been swimming around them all night, and the sensitivity and fear which might have once plagued the word was now lost in the miasma of having their friends back safe and sound.</p><p>“But O’Brien said she saw you die!” Bates was the strongest player now, older than Andy and more domineering than Moseley. “That you both fell to your death in a mine. We’ve been sat up the whole night thinking you were dead! We were mourning you, the pair of you! Do you realize that? We’ve been up all night weeping at the table-!” He pointed a finger down the hall back to the servant’s stable.</p><p>“And frankly you both look like you’ve died,” Anna agreed. “Thomas looks horrid!”</p><p>“Yes, he does,” Andy agreed. “And why are you dressed up in whatever this thing is?” He plucked at the mattress covering that Baxter wore. “Where is your wedding dress?”</p><p>“I’ll kill him,” Moseley was swearing. “I’ll kill him myself if he’s touched you-“</p><p>“He didn’t touch me,” Phyllis assured him, “Thomas wouldn’t let him… and well…” She gestured to Thomas, who was still leaning heavily against Richard’s shoulder.</p><p>“Christ we’ve got to get him looked at,” Bates said. “We’ve got to get the doctor-“</p><p>“We can’t, I’m telling you-“</p><p>“Well, we can’t leave him like that!”</p><p>“Excuse me.”</p><p>Voices died down for a third time, as Christopher drew attention to himself. He kept rubbing over his bloodstains; no doubt a wound lay below it. As the odd man out of their group, he kept a paltry pleasantness to his voice which laced over the true acidity in his words. He was wary of them, nervous that he might be jumped or forced out back into the snow before he could recover.</p><p>“You wouldn’t happen to have a… pair of tongues… or a knife I could use?” Christopher asked.</p><p>“And why would you need those?” Anna asked. She was more wary of strangers and kept close to her husband’s side as if she thought Christopher might attack all of them without warning.</p><p>“I’ve been shot,” he explained, tapping to his bloody shoulder. “I need to get the bullet out to stop the infection.”</p><p>“So let’s call down Dr. Clarkson!” She urged them all again. “Honestly, what on earth are we waiting for? Are we insane-“</p><p>“We can’t,” Phyllis said.</p><p>“…He’s…” Thomas coughed, his voice weak. Richard rubbed him on the back, trying to wake him up a bit. When he finally opened his eyes, Richard noted that one of them was bruised even on the whites. Coyle had truly clobbered the hell out of him. “He’s wanted, Anna. We’ can’t.”</p><p>Anna was fretful, dithering from one person to the next in search of a solution that wouldn’t come. Andy, having observed all of this, was still putting two and two together.</p><p>“He’s the friend,” Andy realized. It seemed like a lifetime ago that they’d argued on the night of Mason’s death. “Your friend that you didn’t know was in league, right? The one that was there the night of Mason’s death. I remember him-“</p><p>“I’m not in league,” Christopher said. “If I were, I wouldn’t have been shot, would I? Or stabbed,” so clearly he had more wounds than not. “The stabbing I’m not really worried about. It’s the bullet in my shoulder, like I said. The woman didn’t do me much damage.”</p><p>“What woman?” Bates asked.</p><p>To this, Phyllis’ expression grew dark and twisted; mutinous, she asked, “Where is O’Brien?”</p><p>Nervous, Daisy replied, “Upstairs, asleep. She’s really wounded. Coyle nearly stabbed her to death when she tried to save you.”</p><p>And at this, a raucous laugh went up. Even Thomas’ bruised lips were twisting into a bitter smile. Christopher and Phyllis regarded one another with mute hilarity, putting a seed of venom in Richard’s stomach.</p><p>Of course, it had been a lie. Of course-!</p><p>“Save us?” Christopher demanded. “The bitch is the reason we nearly all died! She’s the one who attacked me. Coyle didn’t stab her, I did! In self-defense!”</p><p>The others gaped, horrified by this revelation. Yet as Christopher began to explain more, a noise from above caught their attention. It sounded like someone was walking about, but it was hard to tell where it was coming from, or who.</p><p>He grew ashen, shrinking back to the door.</p><p>“I gotta go,” he muttered, eyes narrowing. “This ain’t safe for me-“</p><p>“No,” Thomas twisted in Richard’s arms, reaching for Christopher; he held him back, not wanting him to fall over. “Don’t go. It’s too dangerous-“</p><p>“And where would you have me go instead?” he asked.</p><p>But Daisy, ever the intellectual, was quick to offer a solution where the others could not. “Why not the wine cellar?” She asked, pointing to the aged door. “It’s warm, under the house, an’ no one goes down there but Andy or Mr. Barrow.”</p><p>Baxter was inspired, “That’s rather brilliant, Daisy.”</p><p>“Alright, I’ll go there,” there could be no atheists in fox holes, it seemed. “but three things will keep me quiet and a good boy.”</p><p>“Oh, give me a break,” Richard sneered.</p><p>“Oh, it’s mouthy time is it?” So hyped up were the pair of them that they were close to arguing over nothing. “When I’m the reason he’s alive an’ you’ve done fuck all?”</p><p>“Watch your mouth in front of women.”</p><p>“Please,” Christopher sneered, hands on his hips. “We both know you don’t give a fig about women.”</p><p>It was far too close, far too dangerous to the topic. The pair of them were close to squaring off, with Thomas still tight in Richard’s arms. The others were caught between surprise and confusion, being graced with the tip of the iceberg that was Richard and Christopher’s animosity for each other. It must have seemed to come out of left field.</p><p>“Please… stop…” Thomas stood up a little straighter in Richard’s embrace, touching his bruised temples. “I beg of you. My head hurts so bad-“</p><p>He could do nothing to get rid of Christopher, and it wouldn’t do to have the others catching on, but after a night of thinking that Thomas was dead, Richard could not stop himself. He carefully took Thomas’ head in his hands, turning his chin this way and that to get the full extent of his bruises. He’d need bed rest, perhaps even surgery. There was a bit of blood coming out of his left ear, but it might not be anything more than a cut on the inner channel. It wouldn’t do to jump to worst case scenarios until they had reason to.</p><p>“Who did this to you?” Richard asked.</p><p>“Coyle,” as if that were any surprise.</p><p>“An’ you didn’t stop him?” Richard demanded. So much for love! Christopher flushed, his thin cheeks growing bright pink.</p><p>“I was busy getting’ shot an’ stabbed,” he replied, “Do you want to play doctor an’ see my wounds?”</p><p>“Let’s take it down a notch, for everyone’s sakes,” Anna said.</p><p>“Don’t trust him, any of you!” Richard warned the others. “He’s in league with Coyle, whatever he says. I know better, an’ I won’t be taken in by his lies just because he’s trying to play hero tonight!”</p><p>“Richard…” Thomas grasped at his lapels, seeming to use him as a counterbalance. “Please…”</p><p>They stared into one another’s eyes, with Thomas far too exhausted to put up a fight anymore.</p><p>“Please, for me,” he finally whispered.</p><p>Furious at having to endure Christopher’s company, Richard was finally forced to relent. “Fine.” He hissed, bitter at it all. “Fine!”</p><p>“Oh well thank you for your charity, Richard,” Christopher grumbled. “Next time I’m in a position to shed blood for you, I won’t hesitate to think twice.”</p><p>“Don’t tempt me,” he warned.</p><p>Giving it up for lost, Christopher focused once again on the other servants. “If you please, I need a sewing kit, a bottle of spirits, an’ a gun.”</p><p>Anna and Daisy looked at one another; Bates glanced down at the gun in his hands, the only one in the room. Andy cocked an eyebrow, unsure.</p><p>“An’ why should we give you a gun?” Andy demanded. “When you might be in league with Coyle.”</p><p>“As I’ve said before,” Christopher was back to rubbing at his bullet wound, perhaps trying to negate the pain. “If I was in league with Coyle, O’Brien wouldn’t have tried to do me in. Mrs. Moseley can vouch for my innocence, as can Thomas. Little Dickie here doesn’t like me because we’re after the same prize, that’s all.”</p><p>Richard made an ugly noise under his breath.</p><p>“I’m gonna need to do surgery on myself… so, sewing kit, “Christopher ticked each item off with his fingers. “I need somethin’ to disinfect an’ numb the pain… alcohol. An’ I’m a wanted fugitive who just royally pissed off a murderous nutcase… so that’ll be why I need the gun.”</p><p>For a moment, the servants were quiet, weighing whether or not they should trust their unwanted guest. Phyllis caught Anna’s eyes, silently imploring her. She nodded.</p><p>“Mrs. Hughes has a medicine kit in her quarters,” Anna said.</p><p>“We’ve got something in the cellar that ought to do the trick,” Andy piped up.</p><p>Bates offered Christopher the gun, though he was a tad bit hesitant. Christopher took it, regarding it to pocket it.</p><p>“That’ll do it,” he agreed. “What do you have in the cellar?”</p><p>Wine, champagne,” Andy shrugged.</p><p>“Stronger?”</p><p>“Port?”</p><p>“Too much sediment,” Christopher said. To be fair, one hardly wanted to clean a wound with port, but Andy was too young and foolish to know the difference.</p><p>“Gin?”</p><p>“I’m a whiskey man, but I’ll take it,” Christopher flashed him a dangerous smile. It was a mark of Andy’s character that he didn’t automatically return it; he, unlike Thomas, did not enjoy different men.</p><p>“I’ll go get Mrs. Hughes’ kit,” Anna said. She stepped into Thomas’ office, fetching his master key before heading off down the hall. Christopher surveyed the scene with slight pleasure.</p><p>“Well I must say you lot know how to make a man feel right welcome-“</p><p>“Don’t get comfortable,” Richard warned. “You’re not stayin’ here, no matter the case.”</p><p>To this, Christopher just sneered. “Oh an’ what are you gonna do. Shove me off?”</p><p>“I might,” he certainly wouldn’t lose any sleep over it, that was for damn sure.</p><p>Anna was back, med kit in hand; it was dusty and looked like it hadn’t been touched since 1870, but Christopher accepted it graciously. He opened it with one hand, examining the contents to find it to his satisfaction.</p><p>“Aye, that’ll work,” he agreed.</p><p>“It won’t be near enough,” Anna disagreed. “You’ll need Dr. Clarkson if you’re well and truly shot.”</p><p>“Oh, you’d be amazed, little missy,” Christopher disagreed. “Men like me, we do what we must to get by.”</p><p>Once again, Anna like Andy was not put at ease by Christopher’s words.</p><p>“Look, we need the full story,” Bates said, pressing Phyllis for an answer. “Whatever happened tonight, I want the full truth. I’ve spent the majority of it thinking the pair of you were dead. It’s been bedlam. Carson tried to fire Mr. Ellis-“</p><p>Thomas scoffed at this, massaging his temple.</p><p>“And Moseley’s been in a state,” Bates said. “So enough of the dodging and confusion. Tell us the truth so that we can know what to do. My child’s asleep two floors up, an’ if you’re saying that we’re all in danger I want to know why.”</p><p>To answer this, Phyllis extended her hand for the set of master keys that Anna had used to fetch Mrs. Hughes’ med kit. Anna handed them over, and Phyllis unlocked the wine cellar door, letting it swing open with a low groan. She gestured to her companions; her intentions clear: they were to go to the basement if they wanted the truth.</p><p>So, one after another, the servants began their descent. Bates and Anna were first, with Moseley and Phyllis following. Andy and Daisy took up the rear behind Thomas, Richard, and even Christopher. Andy didn’t seem keen to let him out of his sights, like he thought any moment now Christopher might turn and attack them all. But true to his word, he did not make a fuss. He’d been given his med kit and his gun; he’d go pliantly now and do as the others asked.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Andy shut the door, throwing them all into cool darkness.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. The Rendezvous</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In lieu of Thomas and Baxter's return, some necessary truths must come to light and difficult decisions must be made.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So I'm officially negative for Covid, thank god. Thought that shit was going to kill me at first, not going to lie. Never had to go to the hospital but damn I was close. </p><p>Warnings for this chapter include <b>foul language and slight attempts of violence</b>.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Descending into the basement was a queer form of deja-vu, reminding Thomas heavily of the night when the Bates’ had promised to overthrow the royal staff. But that night had had a distinctly playful edge about it, despite how annoyed they’d all been with the circumstances. Times had been better then, and the sword of Damocles hadn’t been hanging over all of their heads. Now, it felt far more serious with Thomas wounded and a criminal whiskey runner in their midst. The games of childhood had been succinctly put aside for the harsh realities of adulthood. So much had occurred since this calamity had begun, it left Thomas wondering how on earth they would get through it all.</p><p> </p><p>Anna was the last one downstairs; she shut and locked the basement door behind them. They were momentarily lost in the dark till Baxter lit an oil lamp which sat upon a dusty crate of old wine bottles that needed to be recycled. It wasn’t much light to go off of, but it gave Christopher a chance to truly size up his wounds and begin the process of surgery.</p><p>He shed his shirt, cursing out loud from the strain of moving his wounded shoulder.</p><p>“Fuckin’ son of a bitch-“ he hissed, discarding his bloodied shirt over yet another crate.</p><p>“Language,” Richard said.</p><p>“Kiss my ass, you limp noodle,” clearly Christopher did not like to be interrogated when he was in pain. Infuriated at the jab, Richard made a quick movement like he actually thought to strike him; Bates stopped him, the pair of them struggling momentarily before Richard gave up the ghost and stormed to the opposite corner.</p><p>“He’s in pain,” Bates said.</p><p>“You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Before we begin, what did O’Brien say?” Baxter said, “When did she return to the house?”</p><p>To this, Bates replied, “How did you know she was gone?”</p><p>But the mutinous look in Baxter’s eyes left nothing to chance. “How do you think,” she growled.</p><p> </p><p>Conversation was momentarily put on pause as Christopher shuffled through Mrs. Hughes’ med kit. He pulled out a package of old wrappings, only to find a tin of salve beneath. This, he gave to Thomas in a gesture of good faith.</p><p>“Here-“ but Richard took it from Christopher, a warning not to stray too far in front of the others. It was dangerous of them to be so forward with their advances. They were swapping looks, each sizing the other up; this was how fights started. Nervous that too much would end up getting revealed, Thomas took the wrappings from Richard and began to feel at his chest to search for sensitivity. It was more of an attempt to find a place he wasn’t sensitive at this point.</p><p>“Stop it,” He muttered under his breath, catching Richard and Christopher’s eyes. “Remember who you’re with.”</p><p>“O’Brien came back after dark, stabbed,” Bates began. “She burst into the library and told all the policemen present that you two had jumped over a cliff, and that you were dead. That she’d tried to save you but that Coyle had attacked her.”</p><p>“I’m assuming that’s a lie,” Anna cut in, disgusted.</p><p>“Not all of it,” Baxter said, for in truth they had gone over the ledge. “But most of it, yes.”</p><p>“So you mean she actually told the truth about something?” Daisy wondered, as if this was the must unbelievable part of the whole night. In a way it was.</p><p>As Thomas tried to wrap his ribs atop his shirt, a wave of dizzying pain washed over him. He thought he might be violently ill.</p><p>“I need t’sit down,” He moaned, before collapsing atop a barrel full of old wine corks. Richard took the wrappings from him and ripped a small piece which he then used to tend to a cut on Thomas’ cheekbone.</p><p>“Someone beat the living hell out of you,” he said, “and whoever they were, they had a very good punch.”</p><p>“My ribs hurt,” He said. His cheekbone was nothing compared to his chest.</p><p>“Take off your shirt.”</p><p>“No!” He jerked back from Richard even as he tried to start on Thomas’ buttons. The nerve of him! “The women!” he gestured to Anna and Daisy. But instead of agreeing with their sensitivities, Anna gave him a rather disappointed look like she thought he was being dramatic.</p><p>“I think we can handle it,” She said. Daisy certainly looked alarmed.</p><p>He grimaced, undelighted by the prospect of shedding clothes in front of his co-workers. It was embarrassing and demeaning, he didn’t want these people to see him strip. But if he was going to really get a good look at his ribs, and soon, he’d have to suck it up. Bitter, he turned around on the barrel so that his back was to the others. He began to unbutton his shirt, pausing once or twice with a wince of pain.</p><p>At long last when he was able to shed his shirt and vest, both fell away to reveal a litany of bruises, cuts, and swollen joints. It was like he’d been run over with the wagonette.</p><p>“Oh my god-“ Anna gawped; Bates was wincing, as if seeing Thomas so badly bruised was giving him sympathetic twinges. Moseley had gone green.</p><p>“That’s mental,” he wondered.</p><p>“What happened to you?!” Daisy wondered. “Did one man do that to you?”</p><p>Christopher was unnervingly silent, still wrapping up his stab wounds.</p><p>“That’s it, I’m getting Dr. Clarkson,” Bates had had enough. “I know what those sorts of cuts and bruises mean, you’ve got broken ribs. I’m ready to bet my life on it.” He made his way to the stairs; Thomas grabbed him as he past, staggering from the barrel so that it tipped over and spilled a wave of corks onto the floor.</p><p>“Oh nice one!” Andy complained, stooping over to right the barrel and begin picking the mess up.</p><p>“You can’t,” Thomas bade. “I am begging of you, do not get Dr. Clarkson, she cannot know I’m down here. If she finds out I’m alive before we have a plan… it’s all over. She’ll attack again and I won’t be strong enough to stop her this time.”</p><p>Bates narrowed his eyes at the idea. “What do you mean ‘stop her this time?’”</p><p>Thomas did not answer but let go of Bates’ arm all the same. To busy himself, he began wrapping his ribs. The process was slow and methodical. Every inch hurt.</p><p>“What did O’Brien do to make it so dire that you can’t see a doctor when you might be in serious trouble?” Bates asked. “Why are we not waking up the whole house right now? What do you know that we don’t?”</p><p>But there was so much to go over, he thought an entire lifetime wouldn’t be enough. Behind him, Baxter was sympathetic to his cause, but of a different mindset.</p><p>“Thomas…” He glanced over his shoulder to find her twisting her dirtied hands. “You’re the one who knew the truth before I did. I think you need to be the one to tell them now. They have to know… everything. That’s the only way you’re going to be able to win. Teamwork… and community. Those are your assets now. Those are things that O’Brien desperately wishes she had. Maybe you’re just not used to being able to count those things in your arsenal, but they are there. Everyone in this basement would gladly shed life and limb if they knew the truth. There’s nine of us down here… and there’s only one of her. Do the math.”</p><p>Damnit, he hated it when she spoke sensibly like the little saint that she was. He sucked on his teeth, considering his options.</p><p>Bates was in Lord Grantham’s pocket, and honorable in the eyes of the rest of the house, but Anna was cunning and quick to think of plans when things went haywire. Daisy was a revolutionary, and Andy… well, Andy just hated O’Brien. He had as much skin in the game now as anyone else. Moseley of course, knew the truth, as did the others. The more people that knew, the more that could help… or at least the more that could offer different perspectives on a difficult situation. Maybe there was something that Thomas had overlooked.</p><p>Maybe in the eyes of Anna, this situation was fixable.</p><p>He sat back down atop the now righted barrel of corks. It was slightly emptier than before, so he was rather cramped on it until Richard directed him to a much more comfy wooden chair that was currently occupied by a box of claret from Provence. Richard sat the wine on the floor and helped Thomas to sit down. It was good, to sit on a decent chair and let his spine rest for a moment.</p><p>Bates, Anna, Daisy, and Andy were now waiting patiently to hear what he had to say. Each had a look of resignation on their faces, having mentally tallied up that too much was at stake to be huffy and puffy now. Like the night when they’d plotted against the royals, it was all for one and one for all.</p><p>“… There’s a few things you need to know,” Thomas said. As he spoke, his eyes flitted from face to face, so familiar to him that he could have drawn them blindfolded. “Each is as important as the last to get the full picture of what we’re up against.”</p><p>“Alright,” Bates said. He crossed his arms over his chest, waiting.</p><p>“the first… the most important,” he laced his hands over his bruised stomach, now wrapped in aged cloth, “Is that O’Brien did not come back to Downton Abbey because Lady Grantham found her starving in the streets of London. That was a clever rouse on her part. She’s not actually here to work as a member of our staff. She’s already working for somebody else… somebody who employed her for the sole purpose of being able to slip amongst us, unchallenged.”</p><p>“Coyle,” Bates practically cursed the name, screwing up his face and looking to the ceiling to groan and mumble at the sky. “God damnit…”</p><p>“Yeah,” he wouldn’t try to make this any more charming than it was. “He orchestrated all of it. The sob story… Lady Grantham fell for it hook line and sinker.”</p><p>“Does she know?” Bates asked. “The truth?”</p><p>“No. Nobody knows.”</p><p>“Well, I know-“ Moseley blurted out, apologetically. Bates was taken aback.</p><p>“What?” He demanded, “Why didn’t you say something then?”</p><p>“There’s more, loads more. Thomas-“ Moseley pressured him to carry on. “Tell them about the blackmail. They need to know that too.”</p><p>“… I can’t tell you about that,” Thomas said. To reveal the blackmail would be to reveal his relationship, which could not happen.</p><p>“Instead, I will say why she’s here. Which is to kill Phyllis,” he paused, having to re-situate himself upon the chair where it was beginning to hurt at his ribs. “Or at least, get her to Coyle so that he can kill her. She’s nearly succeeded twice before tonight. The first time was the wagonette. She was in the fucking room when we changed our plans. That’s how she was able to call Coyle after we left and tell him that we were on the move. That Phyllis was going to be on the road with us.”</p><p>“My god,” Daisy looked like she might be sick. “So she’s the reason Mr. Mason is dead?”</p><p>He nodded, continuing on.</p><p>“Then… She changed tactics, and decided to try and get rid of Phyllis another way, and… well… “ He gestured to Anna, who made a noise of sorrowful understanding.</p><p>“That bitch…” She cursed.</p><p>“The letter,” was all Baxter said. Anna was revolted.</p><p>“So, at this point, I’ve now foiled two attempts,” Thomas shrugged, then slapped his thighs to rub them for circulation. “I have to go. I’m getting too close to home for comfort, and so long as I’m here, it’s never going to go exactly the way she needs. So, she orchestrates for Coyle to kidnap both me and Phyllis at the wedding… Which brings us to tonight-“</p><p>“God in heaven,” Andy was agog at the pile up of facts. He took things slowly, he didn’t like being bum rushed with information.</p><p>“I don’t understand,” Bates exploded, pacing back and forth rapidly so that his cane tapped methodically upon the stone floor. “Why in the hell have you not told anybody?! Why didn’t you say any of this to Lord Grantham? To the police! Thomas, people could have died—they have died!” Bates corrected himself in a rush.</p><p>“She’s got Thomas cornered, Mr. Bates,” Moseley came to his defense, “I’m telling you, she’s got blackmail on him.”</p><p>“then you should have said something,” He pointed a vindictive finger at his old friend.</p><p>“He’s right,” Anna agreed. “Why didn’t you say something if you’d known all this time?”</p><p>“I can’t either!” Moseley cried out. “None of us can!”</p><p>“Does she have blackmail on you too?”</p><p>“No, but… I can’t allow her to do to Thomas what she’s threatening to do, and if you knew you’d understand.”</p><p>“Then tell me!” Bates snapped, looking from Moseley to Thomas. It was like that day in 1920, when Bates had come to his room and offered his aid. But it was worse… so much worse. Daisy and Andy were different from Anna and Bates. They were younger, they had less skin in the game when it came to Thomas. And Andy did not like homosexuality.</p><p>“What on earth is she threatening to do to you that is so bad that you can’t speak?” Anna asked. “Look at yourself, Thomas! You’re nearly forty now, you can’t keep getting clobbered like this by every thug in the village-“</p><p>He scoffed, unimpressed. Anna was reproachful.</p><p>“… You think this is the worst thing that she could do to me?” He muttered, unwilling to meet her eyes. He rubbed at his thighs again. “Do you not imagine, Anna Bates… that there is something much much worse she could do?”</p><p>He glanced at his old workmate, so innocent when it came to these particular waters. “Come on, use your imagination.”</p><p>“What are you talking about?” She was unnerved by his tone.</p><p>“Fuck, I need a cigarette,” He blurted out, bitter at his circumstances. Silently, Richard reached for his own pack, and offered it to Thomas, already lit. He took it at once, puffing slowly on the nicotine. It put a light haze around the lone oil lamp.</p><p>Silence fell once again as he smoked. He twitched with his fingers, drumming them nervously upon his leg. They couldn’t understand, how could they possibly fathom the depths of depravity that he had to deal with? If they knew the truth… they’d never look at Richard the same way again. They’d know he was like Thomas and they’d… turn on him. Treat him like garbage, even if they didn’t want to acknowledge it.</p><p>No, it couldn’t be tolerated.</p><p> </p><p>“… Thomas,” Baxter step forward, hesitant at first, but then surer. “Tell them. The more we lie and hide, the worst the situation will get.”</p><p>“No,” he would not even contemplate it. “Not this time… They won’t understand.”</p><p>“They do, though,” Baxter said. “Think about it, they sort of already know half of it-“</p><p>“And the other half is worth everything,” he reminded her, eyes blazing. “So, the answer is no.”</p><p>“Do I not get a say in this?” Richard spoke up.</p><p>Hesitant, Thomas flicked some ash onto the floor. “Nope,” he popped the ‘p’ rather annoyingly.</p><p>“I’m a grown boy, I can handle criticism.” He spoke. “I’ve worked in houses that are worse than this, Thomas-“</p><p>“Ohho, try me,” He groaned. “You have no idea what these people are capable of, Carson in particular-“</p><p>“Carson’s not down here,” Richard shrugged.</p><p>“S’not good enough. He’ll find out, and when he does-“</p><p>“When he does, he can suck an egg!” Richard said. It was a pleasing thought. “Look, I’m telling them-“</p><p>“Richard-!” Thomas rose from his seat, aggravated. He didn’t care how it looked to the others. At this point, he was just eager to keep the man quiet. “For fuck’s sake, think man! Think! Think of Andy.”</p><p>“I don’t give a shit about Andy,” Richard cursed.</p><p>“oh well that’s nice!” Andy scoffed. “And here I thought we were getting along better!”</p><p>“Not on this subject,” Richard said. “But that’s not going to keep me quiet. I’m kept my silence for months. I’ve lied to all of you, and it’s time for the lies to stop. I’m not planning on leaving Downton. I’m here to stay, and if I do, I should be here with clear intentions of why.”</p><p>Thomas sat back down, head in his hands. “… Please don’t do this,” He muttered into his hands. “I don’t want them to know.”</p><p>“Why?” Bates asked. “Why do you not want us to know what she’s got on you. It concerns Richard, and he doesn’t care. Why do you care?”</p><p>Thomas looked up at Bates, eyes burning with contempt.</p><p>“Because,” He paused to take a breath. “Because someone that I love will suffer. And as much as you may imagine that I’m immune to the idea of love, I’m not. And there’s great deal I’m willing to endure in silence, if it means that the ones I care for will be kept away from the spotlight.”</p><p>Bates shifted on his cane, never looking away from Thomas. It seemed he was starting to get the jist.</p><p>“… I see,” Bates finally said.</p><p>A beat of silence, then. “Richard,” he looked to his workmate. “Tell me. Tell me, man to man,” He tapped the ground between them with a cane. “Never mind Andy.”</p><p>“Well, I guess I’m pig shit,” Andy huffed in the corner. Bates held up a hand, forcing him to silence. It was a mark of his authority and presence that Andy did not rebuff him and instead hid moodily by a crate of beer.</p><p>“I told you I came here for personal reasons, not career reasons,” Richard said, speaking directly to Bates. “That was obvious, given the huge step down between dressing the King and dressing Lord Grantham. But I never said what those reasons were. The truth is that when I came to Downton during the royal visit… I met Thomas. And from the moment I saw him I was utterly fucking in love with him,” he cursed.</p><p>Anna made a tiny noise beneath her breath, just the slightest hitch. Her blue eyes were going as wide as tea saucers. Behind them, Andy was gaping with his mouth open. His wife fared little better, though she was less appalled and more pleased for whatever reason; she looked mischievous.</p><p>“We’ve been together since I came here,” Richard said, when the silence carried on.</p><p>“… I ...” Andy pointed at Richard. “You’re… You’re a… a…”</p><p>“Faggot?” Christopher spoke up from the corner. Andy grimaced at the vulgar language. “Thought you said they could be trusted… sounds like the little man in the corner is getting hot under the collar.”</p><p>“I… I just don’t… you look normal!” Andy blurted at in protest. “You’re a normal man! A red-blooded man! You look just like us! You’re not lady like, like Thomas-“</p><p>“Excuse me?!” Thomas rose up from his chair, haughty. “Have you lost your mind, Andrew?”</p><p>Bates rolled his eyes, glaring at Andy, “Andy, don’t take this the wrong way, but do shuttup.”</p><p>“And do I look lady like?” Christopher demanded. He came forward a bit, cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth so that he cut a rather menacing figure.</p><p>Andy’s eyes were ready to bug out of his head.</p><p>“What do you mean?” He blurted in a rush.</p><p>“I mean, dear child, that two are three,” Christopher said. And at this, he leered. “I’m a Nancy too. Do I look lady like too? I remind you; I am armed with a gun so… take that into consideration before you answer.”</p><p>Andy looked like he might faint from shock.</p><p>“Oh sit down before you fall down,” Christopher was unimpressed. “Honestly, look at you, whimpering.” He looked to Thomas and Richard. “What a bunch of putzes. They meet a gay man and they’re howling to the moon like we’re pedophiles.”</p><p>“To some we are,” Thomas warned. Christopher just laughed at this.</p><p>“I knew a pedophile once,” He said. “In prison.” After a beat he added. “I cut his throat and hid his body in the toilets. We laughed and laughed, charming times…” he returned to his mock surgery, working on the bullet hole with nimble but bloodied hands.</p><p>Anna stepped forward; eyes narrowed. “Who are you?” She demanded.</p><p>“I’m no one of consequence, pretty lady,” he replied.</p><p>“My name is not pretty lady,” she snapped. “It’s Mrs. Bates, and you’ll address me as such.”</p><p>“I’m no one of consequence, Mrs. Pretty Lady Bates,” Christopher flashed her a devilish smile. Anna scowled, irritated.</p><p>“You can’t go and say that, after everything else that we’ve seen and heard,” she said. “You’re in on this somehow, you know Richard and Thomas. Whether it’s because you’re all gay or not, I don’t know but something’s there… I can sense it.”</p><p>“Clever Mrs. Pretty Lady Bates,” he mocked her.</p><p>“It’s complicated, Anna,” Thomas warned.</p><p>“It’s disturbing,” Andy complained from the corner. “It’s like a mad house!”</p><p>“Andy, be quiet!” Baxter snapped.</p><p>“You’re a child,” Christopher stepped around the others, abandoning surgery to instead approach Andy menacingly. He was slowly growing white from fright. “You don’t understand how the world works yet; you think you’ve got it all figured out, but you’re just a hick from the north whose ears are still wet.”</p><p>“I may not be old, but I know this isn’t right!” Andy said. “Men and women are supposed to be together, that’s how babies are born!”</p><p>“Sod babies!” Christopher shouted. “Not everyone’s cut for the same cloth. Some of us want more in life than to shit out a kid and wipe its nose!”</p><p>“What a lovely view of childbirth, “Anna grumbled, stroking her swollen belly.</p><p>“He’s got a point though,” Bates mused. “Not every man wants to be a father.”</p><p>“… Well, I do,” Thomas spoke up. The room went silent again, now slightly more uncomfortable by his admission. “I wish I could be a father,” he admitted to them all. “It’s why I love the children so much. But I can’t. I don’t have it in me.”</p><p>“But you could try!” Andy blurted out. “You could… find a girl and just try—”</p><p>“No, he can’t,” Christopher said. “And that’s why you’re too young to understand. You still think it’s all a game. That we’re having a bit of dirty lecherous fun, kissing other men in the dark. You still don’t understand that we have no choice but to bear this burden. That we didn’t choose it, and we can’t change it. You’re a child-“</p><p> </p><p>He winced, pausing to touch his bullet wound. He turned way from Andy, returning to the light of the lone oil lamp. “Can’t fucking see this bullet.”</p><p>Bitter, Thomas got up from his seat and came to his side; from his own angle, he could see it… it was just out of reach for Christopher himself.</p><p>“I was a medic during the war,” Thomas said, picking up a pair of tweezers from Mrs. Hughes’ med kit. “Hold still.”</p><p>It was like getting back on a bicycle after years of not riding. For a moment, his hands were unsteady, and his view was cloudy. But, like that old fable, all it took was a second for Thomas to remember, and he dug in the tweezers to grab the bullet hard.</p><p>Christopher grunted loudly, seething with clenched teeth.</p><p>“Fuck you!” he groaned but did not move as Thomas clenched the bullet tight and yanked back. It popped out with a wet, sick sound.</p><p>“Aha-!” but Christopher was now in immense pain, hunched over as he clutched his bleeding wound. It dripped onto the floor, coating the tiles in red. “Fuck… Fuck-!” He even punched a rotting wine shelf, so that a bit of wood broke away and fell to the floor. When he slowly straightened up and looked around, his brow was pale, and his face was full of sweat. His eyes were glazed from pain.</p><p>“Hot little pepper you know that?” He swore. He chuckled, bitter as he began to thread a needle with twine. Thomas watched, still holding a bloody pair of tweezers and the bullet. His left hand was now tinged with blood at the tips.</p><p>“Sorry, but it had to come out,” He warned. He returned to his seat, pocketing the bullet and the tweezers both so that the others wouldn’t have to see.</p><p>“And now it has,” Christopher agreed. He uncorked the gin bottle with his teeth before wetting the wound. “From feast to famine I’m spoilt for choice with you, aren’t I?”</p><p>“Don’t…” He warned again, glancing at Christopher, and catching his eyes. “They already know enough.”</p><p>“Oh who cares,” Christopher sneered. “Shake em up a bit. They ought to know you’re sweet as candy where men like us are concerned. They work with you, and don’t even know what a catch you are.”</p><p>“I might vomit,” Andy muttered. Daisy smacked him irritably on the arm.</p><p>“Andy, what are you saying?” She demanded. “You can’t honestly think that.”</p><p>“But…” it was one thing to get insulted by a stranger. It was another thing to be called by his wife. “But Daisy they- they-“</p><p>“They’re human beings, Andy,” she finished, her tone firm.</p><p>Bates had grown irritated. He cut off their marital dispute, bringing the thread of conversation back to him. “Alright, so you two are together. So what. What does that have to do with O’Brien.”</p><p>“She knows,” Thomas explained.</p><p>“And if we go to the police, an’ turn her in, she turns us in,” Richard braced the back of Thomas’ chair with a hand, ankles crossed. “We have no power over her without destroying ourselves.”</p><p>“Mr. Barrow and I have been trying to find a way for weeks to get rid of her, but it’s to no avail,” Moseley admitted, sadly.</p><p>“You should have told me!” Baxter was not happy with him. “Had I known about this, I could have taken care of it ages ago!”</p><p>“Not that I don’t believe you, but how?” he asked. “You’re just as powerless as we are!”</p><p>“I have my means,” she scowled. Christopher let out a string of ugly laughs from the corner where he stitched.</p><p>“Ain’t that the truth,” he agreed.</p><p>“So, you’re pinned,” Bates was not happy with the turn of events.</p><p>“Yes,” Thomas said. “That’s about the size of it.”</p><p>“She’s dangerous enough to take us all out!” Moseley threw his hands up to the ceiling, “Not just Thomas and Richard.”</p><p>“My god…” Anna groaned, now pacing back and forth like her husband had done moments before. After years of being married, they’d taken on each other’s mannerisms and hadn’t even realized it. “All this time, she’s been right in front of us, and I haven’t even realized! Why? Why didn’t I see?”</p><p>“Because you’re a decent person, and you don’t think in circles like that,” Bates said.</p><p>“It’s disgustin’,” Daisy snaped. “I’ve been feeding her. She’s been eating off our plates and drinkin’ from our cups! All this time.”</p><p>“I quite agree,” Richard muttered.</p><p>“So, what happened tonight?” Bates demanded. “How did you come to be taken from the wedding? Was she there when you were kidnapped? Where did you even go?”</p><p>“Coal mine,” Christopher spoke up from the corner. “Grantham Mines, to be exact. It’s abandoned now….” He paused, setting down the needle to re-thread with bloodied hands. He had to wash in gin to unstick his fingers. “I saw the whole thing happen from afar. They got knocked out and drug to the mines. Coyle’s rigged up this little cell in a pit, just for her,” he nodded to Phyllis, hands occupied. “Tied ‘em both up in there.”</p><p>“Coyle had his fun with Thomas, which is no surprise,” Baxter agreed. “I thought he’d kill us both, but then Christopher tried to save us, and he got thrown in the pit too.”</p><p>At this, Richard was in disbelief. “You tried to save him?” He sneered.</p><p>“Obviously,” Christopher’s tone was so acidic, it could have burnt a hole through sheet metal. “I , unlike some, do not work on words alone. I’m a man of action.”</p><p>“Alright then, Mr. Man of Action,” Richard let go of Thomas’ chair, arms crossed over his chest in defiance. “What happened? Tell us the story.”</p><p>“oh… Is this how things are going?” Christopher wondered. “We all buddy buddy now? Swapping stories in the dark while mummy and daddy are asleep in bed? Do you want to share a packet of crisps and tell me ghost stories?”</p><p>“I’m asking you what happened,” Richard replied through clenched teeth.</p><p>“What do you think?” He shrugged, returning to his needle work. “I tried to lead an insurgency. It did not go well.”</p><p>“Alright, so why didn’t Coyle kill you flat out?” Richard asked. “Why even let you live for a second after that? I’d have shot you in the head.”</p><p>“oh, he was going to,” and of this, there could be no doubt. “But he wanted to make me suffer first. Remember, he likes to play with his food. Once your dead, you’re no fun.”</p><p>“How did he make you suffer?” Richard asked.</p><p>Christopher paused.</p><p>For a moment, it was unnervingly quiet, as he fiddled with the needle. Yet for every second that passed and he did not speak, Richard was growing more and more suspicious.</p><p>“… How did he make you suffer?” he repeated. This time, his tone was deadly.</p><p>Behind Richard’s back, Baxter was fidgeting. She, like Thomas, knew the truth, and perhaps could sense that if Christopher told Richard the full story, he’d snap.</p><p>“Richard-“ Thomas stood up, reaching out. Richard jerked his arm away, eyes now blazing.</p><p>“No, I want to know!” he demanded. “I want to know for certain that you’re not with Coyle still. I want to know what he did that made you suffer!”</p><p>Christopher sighed, snapping the twine of his stitches. “… He … made me hurt the thing I love,” Christopher muttered. “He forced me to.”</p><p>“What do you mean, ‘the thing you love’?” Richard demanded. When Christopher did not look at him, or answer, he added. “Why won’t you look at me?”</p><p>A beat of hesitant silence. Bates was wary now, a hand out to keep Anna away from the two men.</p><p>“Maybe I feel guilty,” Christopher murmured.</p><p>“Guilt about what?” Richard still couldn’t connect the dots. Nervous, Christopher rubbed at his swollen and bruised knuckles. It was unfortunately an action that made Richard realize his hands were bruised.</p><p>He slowly looked up, then, around at Thomas. He then looked right back Christopher’s hands.</p><p>“…Oh…” the loathing and rage in his voice trembled, swelled up, and then exploded in a scream, “You SON OF A <strong>BITCH!” </strong></p><p>He grabbed a wine bottle from the shelf, bringing it down over Christopher’s head with such force that it whistled in the air. Bates leapt forward like a puma, grabbing Richard hard and keeping the wine bottle from hitting its target. Had it done so, it might very well have killed Christopher from the force. Now the two men were dancing violently, with Richard trying to throw Bates off to get another shot at the man he loathed.</p><p>“Get off me!” Richard howled, purple faced. “You bastard this has nothing to do with you!”</p><p>“Take it easy!” Bates shouted over the din. “I know what it is to lash out in anger, you’ll regret it!”</p><p>“For god’s sake, Richard!” Baxter cried out, her pitch near a shriek just to be heard. “Coyle had a knife to my throat! He told Christopher that if he didn’t beat Thomas, he’d slit my throat! He had no choice! Thomas demanded that he do it!”</p><p>But Richard wasn’t listening. He’d had enough, he’d seen enough, and the knowledge that it had been Christopher to inflict Thomas’ wounds seemed to have pushed him over the edge. Mindful of his injuries, Thomas staggered from his chair and took Richard by the front so that he and Bates were now effectively sandwiching him. Unable to attack Christopher, he was left struggling fruitlessly, a pained and emotional look overcoming his brown eyes.</p><p>“I forced him. I forced him, Richard!” he kept saying. He tried to peel the wine bottle from his hand, but to no avail. His grip was too strong, and Thomas was too weak. “Please don’t be angry at him. Not when he’s the reason that Phyllis and I are alive. It broke his heart to hurt me-“</p><p>“Heart, what heart?!”</p><p>Christopher gave him a filthy look, “You know nothing of my heart, don’t claim otherwise.”</p><p>“I know if you had one you would have taken the bullet over put a hand on him!”</p><p>The struggle was losing heat. As it became clear that he would not be able to attack Christopher, Richard began to sag in his swings till he finally stopped. Thomas gave a final push, forcing him to turn the opposite way so that he was facing the wine racks. Bates finally let go, and now Richard was trembling, wine bottle in hand.</p><p>“… You weren’t there, you didn’t see it,” Thomas protested again. “You don’t know what it was like, Richard. If he hadn’t done as Coyle bade, he would have slit Baxter’s throat. I commanded him to do it. I wanted him to hit me. And you can’t turn him into a monster for agreeing when it saved all our lives.”</p><p>Richard trembled, unable to make much heads or tails of what to do next. Part of him seemed to be unable to reconcile with the state of affairs. Another part of him, the more logical part that Thomas so loved, seemed to be coming to terms with the fact that Christopher was innocent even if guilty too.</p><p>Furious, unable to have an outlet for his rage, Richard reared back in a sudden violent fit and launched the wine bottle at the ground where it exploded in a wave of merlot.</p><p>“Fuck!” He shrieked, stamping into the shards of glass with a loud crunch.</p><p>The others were distinctly uncomfortable now. The whole room smelled of wine, and it was repugnant to the nose; it put a slight rush to your head.</p><p>After a moment of tremulous silence, Richard whispered, “God damn you.”</p><p>No prizes as to who he spoke to.</p><p>“Save your breath,” Christopher muttered, returning to his stitches. “You can’t damn me more than I damn myself.”</p><p> </p><p>There wasn’t much to be said to that. Christopher, Richard, Thomas… all of them were terribly embarrassed by each other’s behavior. So private were they normally in their affections and desires that to have it all hashed out on the floor like the broken wine bottle was enough to put a sour taste in their mouths.</p><p>Bates and Anna were quiet, in that mature way that they often kept, but Anna was nervous too and Bates didn’t seem to know what to say. Baxter was sorry for it; she kept giving Thomas apologetic looks that curdled his stomach. Moseley… oh so sheepish Moseley. Ever the teacher, ever the learner; it seemed he was getting schooled on a whole new subject today.</p><p>And as for Daisy and Andy, well… Andy was sickened by all of it. He looked ready to run at the first chance he got. Hiding in the corner, he kept trying to look anywhere but at the three gay men he’d now been forced to share air with.</p><p>Christopher was a sharp observer; Andy’s disgust was as obvious to him as the stench of wine on the air. Where Richard and Thomas were willing to overlook it, he as a stranger was less than forgiving.</p><p>He gave an ugly little chuckle; it boded nothing but ill. Christopher had a dark sense of humor, but when he laughed like that, all humorless and cold, he found nothing funny.</p><p>“What a show for the lot of you,” he finished with the stitches, and snipped the corner edge to cut it clean. He smiled, bitterly, at Andy who was still too nervous to meet his eye.</p><p>“All of you so normal… with your wives and your babies. Your happy little lives.” And at this, he fiddled with the dirty needle, flashing it at them in a taunting manner. “You must find this all mildly amusing, surely? Queer men and their disgusting love triangles. All of it hidden from you, to keep you protected and safe.”</p><p>And at this, he spread his arms wide, revealed his bare and dirty chest flecked with dried blood.</p><p>“Behold, the cancer in your midst,” he said. And when the others did not expound upon this marvel, he then added the word that damned them all: “Homosexuality.”</p><p>Bates blinked, slightly gray in the paunches. He wasn’t entirely thrilled with having to listen to other’s dirty laundry.</p><p>“All of the dark little tangles of it,” he mused, rolling up the rest of the twine and putting it back in Mrs. Hughes’ box. “Bet you must have thought it all a joke before now.”</p><p>He paused, noticed Bates, and fixated his attentions on him instead of Andy (who was grateful for the reprieve) “Look at you, all stiff upper lip. Proud little Englishman with your pretty wife and your baby asleep upstairs. What a terrible little shock for you… three buggerers all lusting after one another.”</p><p>“I never said that,” Bates said. “I’ve known about Thomas for years; it doesn’t bother me. Or your language.”</p><p>“Oh well thank goodness for that,” Christopher sneered. He fumbled through his pockets, and pulled out his lighter, which he tried to get to strike. After all the abuse of the night, it was a martyr’s cause.</p><p>“Fucking lighter is ruined,” he said to no one in particular. “I could really use a smoke too…”</p><p> </p><p>Silently, the queerest little peace offering ever given, Richard pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and handed it to Christopher.</p><p>He took it, amazed at his turn of fortune.</p><p>“Well thank you, Dickie,” he wondered, taking a long drag which seemed to sooth him. “My poor little abused body needs its soothing…” and at this, he looked longingly at Thomas which was helpful to precisely no one. “Won’t you give me a kiss and make me a happy man?”</p><p>Thomas scoffed, rolling his eyes and returning to his chair. “Don’t milk it, Chris, or you’ll turn off the cow.”</p><p> </p><p>Surgeries completed and his ‘poor little abused body’ in no fit shape for sharing, Christopher shrugged back on his dirtied shirt sleeves and buttoned it up as best he could. He tucked the flaps into his trousers, putting himself to rights before licking the tips of his bloodied fingers and used the dampened edges to smooth down his pencil thin mustache. Clearly priorities had to be met.</p><p>“So…” Daisy finally spoke up, a little nervous but eager to be heard. “So you’re… Are you in love with…?” And she silently twitched a finger to Thomas in his chair.</p><p>“Oh yes,” Christopher agreed. “Yes, most miserably so.”</p><p>“But… Mr. Ellis and Mr. Barrow are together,” she finished off. “So where does that leave you?”</p><p>“Bloody good question,” Richard scowled, resting his head upon the wine racks.</p><p>“We’re after the same prize, my dear,” Christopher concluded. “Of course, I am slowly but surely coming to the bitter conclusion that my sweet little sugar dumpling won’t have anything to do with me, which is…” he trailed off, his tone darkening. “A little depressing, all things considered.”</p><p>Daisy had never heard anyone refer to Thomas so cattishly before. It had clearly blown her mind.</p><p> </p><p>“So, let’s get back to the subject at hand,” Bates was clearly of the opinion that Thomas was the farthest thing from a ‘sugar dumpling’ that you could feasibly get. “You beat him, Coyle made you do it. Then what?”</p><p>“Well, then we were left alone,” Christopher took another deep drag. “Dunno for how long, maybe an hour or more. Cried myself to sleep, for the shame of it all.” He paused, exhaling. “Puttin’ a hand on the thing I adore; I couldn’t have imagined a worser punishment if I tried. I might not be a normal man, but I work just the same when it comes to love. Touchin’ Thomas? I never wanted to do that, ever. I’d rather have been shot again. But unfortunately for me, Coyle didn’t give me a choice and frankly neither did Thomas… Suppose it would be a bit like you being forced to hit Mrs. Pretty Lady Bates… I’m assuming she’s yours, the way you two are hip to hip.”</p><p>“She’s mine,” Bates wouldn’t deny it. “And I can’t imagine ever putting a hand on her.”</p><p>“So, you see my point.”</p><p>“Perfectly.”</p><p>“Still, it wasn’t all black,” Christopher even managed to smile. “The amazing Phyllis Moseley decided that she wasn’t going to die today, and she saved us all!”</p><p>It was difficult, to grapple with the fact that technically she had saved them all, but she’d also had to indulge in her darker vices. Hugging herself for a bit of warmth, Baxter bowed her head. “I did not,” she muttered.</p><p>“You did,” he wouldn’t hear a word otherwise. “We’d a been dead if it weren’t for you.”</p><p>“It’s true,” Thomas backed him up. “You saved us, Mrs. Moseley.”</p><p>“So then how did you get free?” Moseley wondered. “How did you manage to get out of that terrible place, when you were all tied up and Thomas was beaten black and blue and Christopher was shot-“</p><p>“Ah, well, I wasn’t quite shot.” He corrected. “That came a bit later.”</p><p>“We were left alone,” Baxter took over the flow of the story, and she was much less coy and cattish in her telling than Christopher. “I think they were waiting to kill us. Or maybe not, maybe they were only tired. In the past, sometimes, when Coyle got really amped up over something, he’d often have moments of blankness where he’d almost needed to recharge. I think it might have been one of those times. So, knowing that we had a bit of time, though not much. Christopher managed to use a broken bottle to cut his bonds, and once he was free, he freed me as well. Then together, the pair of us tended to Thomas.”</p><p>She skipped over the part where she’d murdered three men.</p><p>“We managed to break out of our cell, carrying him between us, and we rode an elevator shaft to the top of the hole. Christopher was able to help us navigate our way back to the mouth of the cave, but of course we found the way out blocked by a whole group of men and O’Brien herself. It was a standoff, not much room for giving on either side… O’Brien and Christopher got into their battle and stabbed each other all over. Then Coyle appeared. He was going to shoot Thomas; he was the weakest member of our party and I suppose he figured it would be easy to get rid of him while everyone was distracted. But then Christopher threw himself in front of Thomas and sacrificed himself to get shot.”</p><p>“See, there you go,” Christopher said with a cheesy little smile. “A tit for tat… Thomas takes a punch; I take a bullet.”</p><p>Richard rolled his eyes, face still turned to the wine rack.</p><p>“It was the only cover we managed to get. We took it and ran. Christopher led the way to the slurry run off; we didn’t have much time to work with. Coyle and O’Brien were right behind us, ready to finish us off. I don’t think they actually thought we’d dare to go down the waterfall.” Baxter mused.</p><p>“They didn’t expect us to survive,” Christopher agreed. “The plan was to climb down, but we didn’t have enough time-“</p><p>“An’ even if we did,” she cut over him. “Climbing down would probably have been even more dangerous. The rocks were slippery and sharp. One wrong move and you’d hit every ledge on the way down. At least by jumping into the water, you steered clear of the rocks. But we couldn’t’ see where the water was heading, or what the mouth of the river would look like.”</p><p>“So, you did jump?” Anna wondered.</p><p>“Yes, that was the truth to her tale,” she agreed. “I did jump, and I took Thomas and Christopher over the edge with me.”</p><p>“So, then what?” Moseley wondered. “How did you get out of the river?”</p><p>“Well… I don’t know…” She turned apologetically to Thomas. “When I came to, Thomas was the one waking me up. And we were on the banks of a river in the outdoors.”</p><p>“I think the impact of the water probably knocked us out,” Thomas agreed. “We came to, and we were out of the cave system but completely lost in the woods. Freezing to death, soaking wet… injured. It wasn’t a good scene. I don’t know how we didn’t die.”</p><p>“Thomas got us up and moving,” Christopher said. “That’s why we didn’t die. If we’d laid there, that would have been the end. But we just kept walking, and sure enough we came upon this little dilapidated hunting cabin. Barely four walls and a ceiling but it did have a tiny fireplace and we cleared that son of a bitch out fast. Got a fire going… Dried out. Decided it was better to make a move now than to wait till morning. Hell, we didn’t know where we even were. So, all we could do was go back to the river, follow it to a hill, climb up as high as we possibly could get… and we saw the abbey on the horizon. We followed the direction until things got clearer, Thomas and Mrs. Moseley started to recognize our surroundings, and voila,” at this he spread his arms wide. “Here we are.”</p><p>“And…” Anna gestured to the rags which Baxter wore.</p><p>“Oh, this thing,” she mused, turning a bit to examine it on her body. “It was from the cabin. My wedding dress got lost in the fight.”</p><p> </p><p>With this final mystery solved, the staff of Downton Abbey were finally all in the know. From Bates, who was gray and exhausted, to Andy who was still disturbed to be in a room with three homosexuals at the same time, everyone had an opinion and yet no one knew how to properly voice it. There was too much to discuss, too many angles to examine the problem from.</p><p>Then, Bates muttered, “Fuck me…” under his breath, and that seemed to sum it up.</p><p>Anna was the first to voice her displeasure, her history with O’Brien long and convoluted.</p><p>“O’Brien coming back here when she didn’t know for certain you were dead was an insanely stupid move,” She paced back and forth, arms crossed over her breast. “She must really have thought you didn’t survive.”</p><p>“Well, you didn’t see that cliff,” Christopher agreed. “I still don’t know how we made it, to be honest.”</p><p>“So, she comes back, sells the police a yarn, but why tell them about the mines?” Moseley wondered. “Isn’t she worried about her story being found out? They’re going to comb them over and find the men inside. Someone will surely blab and then it’ll all be over.”</p><p>Baxter shook her head, “No, if I know Coyle—and I know him well—he’ll have moved on as soon as he thought me dead. I was his target. If he thinks the mission is complete, he’ll have no reason to stay. And O’Brien isn’t stupid enough to double cross him like that. She wouldn’t dare mention the mines unless she thought it safe.”</p><p>“But as soon as she discovers the truth about you living, she’ll tell Coyle and we’ll all be right back to where we started!” Anna proclaimed. It was enough to put a kernel of dread in Thomas’ stomach, making him feel like he might be physically ill. Stooped over on his rickety little chair, he rocked a bit to self-sooth himself, which was a wholly undignified act for a thirty-seven-year-old man to do. Unfortunately for Thomas, being undignified had turned into a morbid past time.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know what to do, anymore,” he admitted. It was a foul statement on his tongue.</p><p> </p><p>And he supposed that this was the true crux of the matter, the real reason they were down in this basement. He had no ideas, nor did Richard or Moseley. Baxter was their newest ally in this fight, but she was under just as much threat as Thomas. Christopher was in danger the moment that he stuck his head above ground; he could do little to aid them in their quest without putting his life directly in jeopardy. And so, now, Thomas had to turn to others to ask for advice. Anything that might ease the ever-growing burden upon his shoulders.</p><p>They did not disappoint.</p><p>“That’s why we’re down here.” Anna said at once. She was determined in her resolutions, “We’re going to figure this out. Right?”</p><p>“Right,” Daisy piped up.</p><p>“But Thomas… why didn’t you tell us all of this?” Bates asked. “Why keep us in the dark this whole time about O’Brien?”</p><p>It seemed that his pride was still wounded. But he was still ignoring the reality of Thomas’ situation, even with a broken wine bottle littering the floor and a literal murderer sitting in their midst post-surgery.</p><p>He gestured silently to Richard, hoping that would be enough.</p><p>“But I’ve known about you being different for ages. We all have,” Bates grumbled. “No one’s minded or said anything.”</p><p>But that wasn’t good enough, not by a long shot. It was one thing that no one had run to the police as of yet, it was another thing entirely to insist that they ‘didn’t mind’. Andy was proof enough that they did, in fact, have opinions on the differences that divided them.</p><p>“I wonder if Andy agrees with you,” Thomas said.</p><p>“Andy’s a child,” Bates replied. “And I don’t look to children for solid advice. I’d sooner get sense out of Johnny.”</p><p>In the corner, Andy flushed an ugly red. Once again, his age was being thrown in his face and there was truly little he could do to deny it. Daisy had nothing to say in his defense, and it seemed to be wearing on his already paper-thin nerves.</p><p>“Look…” Thomas divided the facts squarely upon his left thigh, using his hands like dividers. “For all the indecencies it boils down to this. I love Richard, and I could not permit his safety to be put in jeopardy just to make others feel included in my life. We might work together, and maybe you know more about me than I’m comfortable with, but there’s certain things that I simply don’t like being talked about in public. This is one of them. I couldn’t bear it if anything were to happen to him because of one of you. Haven’t we already lost enough people, as of late?”</p><p>“Mr. Mason is dead,” Daisy agreed, “And you all nearly were too. I understand it, even if it is a bit strange.” Oh well, thank God for <em>that. </em></p><p>“But he was in on it,” Andy pointed out, gesturing to Christopher. “He was there that night on the wagonette, even if he wasn’t really on Coyle’s side. So how do you explain away that?”</p><p>“Eh…” Christopher stepped forward, raking a hand through his filthy thinning hair. “Coyle killed the old man, yeah, but he was never an intended target. Phyllis was. It was god awful, but that whole bit wasn’t planned from the start. An’ I didn’t even know about it till it was already happening, come to think of it. Probably because Coyle didn’t trust me enough. When I saw Thomas was on the wagonette… Hoo…” He finished his cigarette, tossing the deadened but aside and blowing a column of smoke to the wall.</p><p>“I’ve always been Thomas’ man through an’ through,” Christopher declared. “I’ve been playin’ Coyle like a fiddle for too long. I dunno why I ever thought I’d get out alive. We were cell mates, sure, but I never liked him. But hell, it was either get warm up to him or get cold in the snow. He’s not the kind of man you shun. So, when he broke out, I broke out with him. He put a gun in my hand, I shot it. That’s just the way it was. You can’t have a moral hierarchy in prison. You just can’t… you have to get your hands dirty to escape.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I don’t like it,” Andy grumbled.</p><p>“Once again, your age is showing,” Bates reminded him. “I understand what you’re saying perfectly,” he added to Christopher.</p><p>“Do you, I wonder…” it seemed that he didn’t fully believe him.</p><p>“I was falsely accused of murder and nearly swung for it, once,” Bates admitted. In the corner, Andy did a double take, alarmed.</p><p>“You wha-?” He blurted out, only to be shushed by his wife.</p><p>“I know what it is to be behind bars,” Bates continued on. “And I understand you well when you say that you have to get your hands dirty. I did the same.”</p><p>Mildly impressed, Christopher regarded Bates in a warmer light. “Well then… so you do actually understand me when I say that I had to make an arrangement.”</p><p>“I do, even if they don’t.”</p><p>“Well, I’ve been doing his dirty work for a while now, but I’ve always held my own image in mind,” Christopher carried on, now speaking to Bates directly. “Always to keep Thomas safe, that was the main goal. I was willing to hide behind enemy lines if it meant I could run a feed of information back to Thomas. Then the other night, Coyle calls for me an’ tells me that we’re switching targets. That we were now targeting Thomas before Phyllis. I knew what was going to happen at the wedding, but Coyle had too tight an eye on me. I couldn’t get out in time to try and warn you off. So instead, I focused on gathering what little support I had inside Coyle’s compound, and tried to lead an insurrection. It did not go well,” this was the understatement of the year.</p><p>“But what can you do?” He shrugged. “Love makes a man do foolish things. I could hardly let him kill Thomas when I was madly devoted to him, could I? So, I ignored common sense and tried to destroy Coyle. And now all my men are gone… the poor buggers. They might have been filthy little criminals and heathens to the bone… but they were nice enough to those they liked. An’ they liked me.” Christopher gave a sad little smile.</p><p>It was terrible, to imagine those men so desperate for a way out of Coyle’s grasp that they were willing to align themselves to an all but doomed cause. Thomas wondered at how scared they must have been, cowering in a cave and wishing they could see sunlight.</p><p>“What can we do?” Thomas repeated his words. “Nothing. We’re sunk. O’Brien outright admitted to me that she and Coyle are chummy. She’s got us pinned with our worst secret, and if we do anything to her she’ll destroy us. We’ll be parted forever…” he began to consider what such a reality might look like; dank, rotting jail cells and bleak skies only viewable from inside a prison courtyard.</p><p>“Doesn’t matter if it’s a jail or an asylum,” He muttered, head bowed as he fiddled with the end of his cigarette. “Jail or rotting in a shallow grave on the outside of a church that won’t let us be buried in hallowed ground. There’s nothing to be done. We’ve already lost this battle, no matter how many people know our circumstances. So what?” he looked up, ugly with bitter acceptance that it seemed Baxter could not indulge. “So, what if they know now?” he jerked his head at the others. “It changes nothing.”</p><p>She opened her mouth, perhaps to deny it all, but when she found she couldn’t she simply went silent again. In the corner, Andy was shaking his head.</p><p>“S’sick,” he mused. “Inhuman. To do that to someone. Makes my blood boil.”</p><p>“Oh, look whose coming around!” Christopher was far from a believer. “I thought we were all disturbing and disgusting.”</p><p>“It’s hard for me, alright!” That famous temper of Andy’s was close to popping. “I didn’t grow up with this!” he gestured to Richard and Thomas, a clear indication of what he meant by ‘this’.</p><p>Ever the teacher, Moseley took that moment to begin a little lecture all his own. “Andy, it’s better for you to be open minded than closed.”</p><p>“But it’s not that easy!” he complained.</p><p>“It is, though. What are they doing that’s so hurtful to you personally?”</p><p>“Nothing but-“</p><p>“But?”</p><p>“It makes me uncomfortable,” and it seemed that this was as close as he could come to the truth of the matter without bursting into flames from embarrassment. The tips of his ears were bright pink. “We are what we are, all of us, an’ I’m uncomfortable! It makes me uncomfortable to hear Mr. Barrow being referred to like he’s some sort of …” he grimaced, “some sort of pretty girl being courted by her beau.”</p><p>“So Thomas should never be able to experience love or affection because you’re uncomfortable by it?” Moseley gave him no room to budge, that was for certain. Christ, to imagine what kind of classes he could wield. Thomas could remember being in school, all knees and elbows and questions. If Moseley had been the one teaching him, it would have been much more interesting.</p><p>“Well…I…” he tried to come up with an answer, but it was almost impossible. “No! But… not in front of us, surely.”</p><p>“Have they ever done <em>anything </em>in front of us?” Moseley said. “Ever? Have you ever so much as seen Richard and Thomas so much as touch in public before now?”</p><p>To his credit, Andy didn’t automatically pop off with an answer. He stood there considering it, mentally calculating every interaction he’d been witness to before finally saying, “…No.”</p><p>And so, Moseley gestured in a silent way of ‘well there you have it’.</p><p>A little cowed, Andy sat back down on the wine barrel and scuffed at the back of his neck. Daisy observed all of this and inspired by Moseley’s musings re-gained the use of her tongue.</p><p>“Well, I don’t mind it,” She said, like this ought to solve every problem Thomas faced. “And I don’t think you should either, Andy. But either way we’ve got to deal with O’Brien first before we deal with anything else. She’s upstairs right now, sleeping in bed, and she has no idea that you three are still alive. How on earth do we tackle that?”</p><p>“She’s already tried to kill you,” Anna agreed. “what’s to stop her from doing it again? We’ve got a murderer in our midst and she’s holding our fates over our heads. Why should she stop with Mrs. Moseley or Thomas? She could try and kill us all before it’s said and done.”</p><p>Christopher was, like Thomas, already accepting of the doom-and-gloom scenario. “Well, I’m fucked either way,” he cursed. “I’ve got nowhere to go now, and the minute the police know I’m loose, they’ll chase me down like chum in the water.”</p><p>Richard picked his head up from the wine rack, glaring at Christopher, “That’s your problem not ours.”</p><p>“Ah yes!” and they were back to arguing, how quaint. “That’s what I said when she was tied up in a coal pit,” he jerked his head to Baxter. “That’s her problem not mine. Yeah, that’s what I said.”</p><p>“Well maybe I’m not as generous as you.”</p><p>“Oh, Dickie I’m well aware of your flaws, you needn’t prostrate them before me,” Christopher sneered. “But you and I will have to wait until we can deal with O’Brien, unless you’d like our dear Thomas to end up in another coal pit I can’t save him from.”</p><p>Richard glanced at Thomas, found him morose, and finally had to bend a knee to agree with his mortal enemy “… Yes. I fear we do.”</p><p>“But there’s nothing to do!” Thomas complained. “We’re cornered, why can’t you lot see that?”</p><p>“Oh Thomas-“ But he wasn’t interested in more piffle talk from Baxter, no matter how well intentioned it was.</p><p>“No, seriously!” He was adamant that she at least take the hint. “Men like us, we don’t get happy endings. Cottages, marriages, children, we don’t get those things. Because we’re… sinners-“</p><p>“ Hey-“ Richard cut him off.</p><p>“No, go wake up the house!” He complained. “Go wake up everyone. There’s nothing to be done, now. We’re finished.” And with this ugly finality, he at last fell silent.</p><p> </p><p>It was a mark of the truth of his words that nobody made to refute him. Unable to ignore the fact that Thomas’ situation was dire, Andy was shamed for his earlier convictions. Bates, never having had problems in the first place, merely kept his head lowered and his lips pursed. He, like everyone else, was devoid of answers. The very same safety nets that gave him a sense of security were a noose which tightened around Thomas’ neck every time he made to draw breath.</p><p>Baxter, his oldest ally, was his sole comfort in that moment. Where he fell to weakness, she had strength, and she stepped forward to take a knee before him so that she was hunched over in her shoddy mattress cover.</p><p> </p><p>“… Do you remember how you told me that you were going to lift the car?” Baxter asked him. She smiled up at him, as pleasant as if the day had gone beautifully and the night had been peaceful. As if she feared nothing, despite nearly dying hours ago. “How you were going to save me?”</p><p>It seemed like a lifetime ago that Thomas had made that promise. He’d been utterly foolish to think he could take Coyle on, and with O’Brien in the house he’d sorely overestimated his talents for holding off trouble. Maybe a twenty-year-old Thomas would have been able to make some damage, but the nearly forty-year-old Thomas was a pale reminder of his past.</p><p>Baxter held none of this against him, “You upheld your end of the bargain, Thomas. Now let me hold up mine. Let me show you what I’m made of.”</p><p>Now that was a credible threat. After watching Baxter single handedly take out half of Coyle’s men, hold up an unloaded gun and keep the man at bay until they could run, and frankly take them over the edge of a deadly waterfall, there was very little doubt in Thomas’ mind that she was capable of just as much insanity as O’Brien was. What was more, she was well liked, supported in the house, and had Lady Grantham’s ear. Perhaps she, not he, would be the one to finally lift this blasted car and save them all from suffocating beneath the tires.</p><p> </p><p>She rose up, faced her fellows, and said, “I know what we have to do.”</p><p>“Phyllis?” Moseley was slightly nervous, and he could not blame him. He hadn’t seen what Baxter had done that night. He didn’t know what his wife was capable of.</p><p>“Think about what we know,” She said, calm and clear headed. “And cut off all human emotion. That’s what’s crippling us. If we’re to beat O’Brien, we have to think like her. Act like her,” she paused, pacing a bit on the cellar floor to tap at her lip methodically in thought. Then, she said, “She came here to kill me, and she’s tried now to do it three different times. Each time, she’s gotten more brazen. This time, she nearly killed Thomas too, and if we go with Christopher’s intel—which we should—we now know that Coyle’s turned Thomas into a target just as much as me. O’Brien’s running a direct line to Coyle, so there’s nowhere inside the abbey that’s rightly safe with her still here. The moment we reveal her for the criminal that she is, she destroys Thomas and Richard. But there’s something she’s not realized, in all of this… and that’s that we can go low too. We can’t reason or bargain with her. We can’t keep pretending to be dead, not when Thomas needs a doctor and I’m pregnant. So that only leaves one solid option.”</p><p>She stopped, looked her husband dead in the eye, and said, “We have to kill her.”</p><p> </p><p>Absolute silence reigned.</p><p>At first, Anna didn’t seem to understand what Baxter meant. Her pale blue eyes were wide, but devoid of emotion. Instead, like a deer in the lamplight of a hunter’s specks, she gazed at the future and could not contemplate what it held.</p><p>Then, slowly, she concluded what ‘we have to kill her’ inevitably meant. Murder most foul.</p><p>“…What?” Anna was hoarse with knowing and fear.</p><p>“No,” Moseley wouldn’t even contemplate it.</p><p>“You can’t say something like that-!” Andy complained. “We’re not killers, it’s not who we are!”</p><p>“Enough!” She snapped. Andy jumped, taken aback by her brusque tone. “Look at you all, terrified to do what must be done. Are you so quick to bend over and take it from a murderess? It’s her or us-!” She gestured to them all in clear indication of who the ‘us’ was. “She’s Coye’s agent. She’s come here to kill me and when Thomas got in the way she tried to kill him too. She’s determined, armed with blackmail, and she’s ready to kill us all to achieve her goal. Mr. Bates, you said earlier that your child is sleeping in this house, do you remember?”</p><p>Bates did not reply, but he was certainly captivated by her argument.</p><p>“think of every person that we know and love who is in danger as long as she is alive,” Baxter urged. “Think of the children, asleep in the nursery, and the three babies that are unborn in this room!”</p><p>“Three?” Christopher wondered, agog. “Christ you lot are like rabbits. That’s every woman in the room!”</p><p>“Shuttup,” Baxter shut him down before continuing on. “Are you all so afraid of going against the grain that you cannot take a stand and defend your home and your children? Look at Thomas, Richard, and Christopher. Look at how brave they are! Every day of their lives, hiding in plain sight and having to deny themselves the basic comfort of human affection lest someone run to the police and ruin them? Perhaps we can tap into a little bit of that bravery now…. So how would we do it?” She put her hands on her hips. “How would we kill her?”</p><p> </p><p>“Phyllis…” Moseley spluttered, his cheeks growing pink with emotion. He was a man of principle, this had deeply rattled him, it was clear. “I… I don’t understand what you’re saying to me.”</p><p>“I agree!”</p><p>The sudden piping noise of a mouse being trodden on was, of all things, Daisy Parker. Ever the little fireball, she was suddenly inspired by this insurrection and wanted nothing more than to begin the revolt at once.</p><p>“I want revenge!” She declared, as if this wasn’t wholly obvious. “I’m tired of living under an evil eye, Mr. Moseley! It’s time to rise up and conquer it. What’s stopping me when she’s the reason my father is dead?” And that, it seemed, was the straw to break the camel’s back. Mason’s death was still sore on all of them. It had been pointless, barbaric, and cruel. He had been the best of their entourage, a kind spirit who had not been tainted by their insanities. To lose him had been unforgivable.</p><p>“We have to help them,” Daisy grew slightly more pensive, perhaps realizing that she’d been shouting about offing a woman. “We have to kill her.”</p><p> </p><p>From the mouths of babes came the truth. Now backed up by Daisy, Baxter’s ominous premotion began to really take hold in the minds of the others. Bates in particular was coming around, for he was the darkest of their group when it came to violence and revenge. He gathered himself for a moment, weighing the options of his words. When he spoke, it was with such menacing quality that it put a shudder down Thomas’ spine.</p><p>His heart was beginning to beat quick, inspired by Baxter’s idea. Could it really be so easy? Could they actually kill O’Brien?</p><p> </p><p>“If we do this…” Bates growled soft and low, “We cannot mess up. We have to plan it right. We have to iron out every detail in advance. Prepare for any outcome… we fail, we’re done for.”</p><p>“It has to be quick,” Christopher agreed. “Quiet, efficient. You’re gonna kill someone in a house like this, you can’t make noise or leave a mess. Take it from a professional.”</p><p>“Nothing with blood,” Bates added. “Nothing we’d have to clean up.”</p><p>“Poison?” Richard offered. “Easy to buy, easy to use... no blood.”</p><p>Now that was a feasible option, and frankly a cheap one too. A bottle of arsenic could cost as much as a crown, but you could kill several men with one dosage. So… perhaps a trip to the apothecary was in order.</p><p>“I agree,” Andy said. “Let’s use rat poison. She’s a rat sure enough, isn’t she?”</p><p>“Poetic, but no,” Bates shot it down. “Arsenic is more potent, quicker, efficient… even if it is more expensive.”</p><p>“I could go into town and buy some tomorrow?” Andy offered.</p><p>“No,” Christopher shot that down like a passing grouse. “You need to have everything ironed out before you make a move. Remember what he said?” he nodded to Bates. When Andy did not seem convinced, Christopher continued on to say, “Think of how it looks, here comes this boy walkin’ into town, buys arsenic. A day later, someone at the house is dead. Whose suspect number one? You can’t buy it. Someone unknown has to do it. And when to poison her, that’s another thing innit?”</p><p>Daisy was more mindful than her husband, “Why not poison her at supper when the family’s in bed and all the day maids have gone home. We could make it look like she left in the night.”</p><p>“But Sergeant Willas would be all over it,” Anna warned. “As soon as they know that Thomas and Mrs. Moseley have survived, they’ll know her story is false, and she’ll be crowded with police.”</p><p>“Good,” Bates said. Anna did a double take, confused. “Let him think she ran. It’ll be a good alibi. Let them look for her.”</p><p>“Alright, so you poison her at supper and now the police are looking for body,” Christopher continued on. “Where are you going to hide it?”</p><p> </p><p>Now that was a problem. Daisy looked to Andy, Andy looked to Moseley, Moseley looked to Bates and Bates looked to Baxter. None of them had an answer. For a moment, there was silence as each member of their crew tried to come up with a good enough hiding spot that could take care of O’Brien’s body.</p><p> </p><p>“…We could... bury her in the woods?” Daisy offered. “We’re surrounded by woods.”</p><p>“Nah,” Christopher shook his head. “That’d take ages, to dig a six-foot hole in the winter. Earth’s frozen solid right now. Every time someone dies in winter, they have to put a fire down on the ground first to thaw it open, and everyone would either see the flames or smell the smoke. An animal would be able to dig her up out of any hold you made without the aid of a fire and eat her. Her corpse would be found.”</p><p>“Well, what about the graveyard,” Richard mused. “If there’s an open grave, we could shove her in it. Hide a matchstick in a matchbox.”</p><p>But that wouldn’t work either, “Take it from me, the village is way too open. Anyone could see you going in there with her. The church is in the dead center of town.”</p><p>“The lake?” Bates offered. “The miller’s pond?”</p><p>“Frozen over,” Christopher shot down. “You’d have to make a hole, and everyone would see it. And then, she might get loose and float to the surface-“</p><p>“Well do you have any fucking ideas?” Richard cursed, furious at the way that Christopher was shooting down everyone’s thoughts. He gave Richard a contemptuous look with thinly veiled irritation.</p><p>“Better than yours, Mr. Graveyard in the middle of town,” he sneered.</p><p>“Christ…” Richard turned away for a moment and had to take several labored breathes before it seemed that his temper was back under control. “I wanna deck you so bad I could die from it.”</p><p>“Good, I hope you do,” Christopher grumbled. Richard seethed, hands shaking in mid-air and eyes popping with fury. Bates held out an arm in warning.</p><p>“Easy, Richard,” he warned. “Keep it together.”</p><p> </p><p>But Thomas had had enough of Christopher constantly needling Richard just for the sake of getting a rise out of him. He rose up form his chair, despite the pain in his side, and declared, “Stop it, Christopher!” the anger in his voice was so heavy that Christopher actually recoiled like he thought Thomas might slap him. “Stop it! The last thing we need right now is you two fighting over nothing.”</p><p>“You’re far from nothing,” Christopher reminded him. “And he’s not entitled to you just because you work in the same house.”</p><p>“I’m entitled to him because I love him!” Richard cried out, agog at the fact that after all this time Christopher still could not seem to grasp this one simple concept. “Because I adore him with all my heart, and you are nothing more than a thieving petty criminal whose killed seven men! You’re not worthy of him!”</p><p>But instead of taking this comment to heart, Christopher just burst out laughing. “Excuse me, Mr. High and Mighty!” He crowed. “We’re debating on how to kill O’Brien! You don’t get to use that line anymore. You’re just as bad as I am, and the sooner you admit it, the sooner you can stop whining in front of the women.”</p><p>Irritated, and yet cornered by these irrefutable facts, Richard took a long-suffering breath and muttered “Pig” before turning away.</p><p> </p><p>Silence resumed. For a moment, Thomas thought that he would have to apologize for their behavior ot the others, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment at his love life now on the front page. But as he opened his mouth to try and explain it away, he was cut off by Andy who had a very strange look on his face.</p><p>A look of inspiration, one might say.</p><p> </p><p>“… Hey…” He mused, tone turning optimistic as he looked to the others. “I… think I have an idea. I mean, a really awful idea but… a really good one.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well how can it be awful and good at the same time?” Christopher asked. “It’s either one or the other.”</p><p>“Pigs,” Andy repeated the word, a devious smile beginning to grow on his face. “You said she’d be dug up and eaten by an animal if we buried her right?”</p><p>“Right,” Christopher said.</p><p>“Well… before he died, Mr. Mason was telling me to be careful with our pigs, when I’m handling them alone,” he explained. “We were discussing how to care for them. And he mentioned to me that he knew a farmer years ago who was eaten by his hogs. He’d had a heart attack and keeled over right in the pen… and well…”</p><p> </p><p>Christopher’s dark eyes were beginning to sparkle with that age old light of mischief. His mouth was shaped in a perfect circle, tiny noises of intrigue slipping out, “Ooh…” he wondered.</p><p> </p><p>He looked back around, and for whatever reason the first person he took to was Richard despite their arguing and pathetic squabbles.</p><p>“…That could….” Christopher trailed off.</p><p>“Work,” Richard finished; their earlier argument was suddenly forgotten with this newfound lead. “Yeah, that could work.”</p><p>“Huh.” Christopher looked back to Andy, impressed by his genius. “I like it.”</p><p>“I do believe we have a ringer,” Baxter wondered in praise.</p><p>“Andy that’s wretched…” Daisy shuddered, a sick little smile on her normally docile and sweet face. “Let’s do it.” She gloated.</p><p> </p><p>“I think I might vomit,” Anna groaned. “Or never eat pork again.”</p><p>“Do you really think it could work?” Moseley asked Andy. “You know your pigs.”</p><p>“Mr. Mason said it happened,” Andy swore, “And I could hold back on the slop for a day or two to get them really hungry. We take her body, we put it in the tray, let nature do it’s course… she’d be gone in hours.”</p><p>“Alright!” Christopher praised, clapping his hands, and rubbing them together. “That’s solid! That’s a great plan. So let’s take it another step further. How do you get her from the abbey to the farm? How far away is it?”</p><p>“Oh about a mile,” Andy mused. “Maybe a little more.”</p><p>“We wait till night, till the house Is quiet and clear,” Bates walked them through the plan, “WE poison her and then…”</p><p>“Have the wagonette ready in the back,” Christopher offered. “Wrap her up in blankets and stow her on the floor. Put more blankets on your laps, make it look like you’re warming up because of the winter snow. A small team goes, takes the body to the farm. Any cops come by, they won’t see her. You can use the excuse of going to check on your pigs. Technically it’s the truth.”</p><p>But Anna didn’t like the sound of this. Only a few years back, she’d been the one wrongfully imprisoned, if they were caught now there would be no denying their guilt.</p><p> “I don’t know about this…” She paced, fretting with her fingers and the buttons of her black dress. “I have a baby to think about, two of them, and well… if we get caught-“</p><p>“It’ll be the end of all of us,” Bates could hardly deny the facts, could he, “But we can’t survive like this, Anna. Not when she threatens to kill us all or worse. It’s her or us… who do you want to survive?”</p><p>“I wish it didn’t have to come to this, John!” It was one of those rare moments in which she used his first name, and a clear indication of just how upset she was.</p><p>“So do all of us,” Richard spoke up, a bit more gentle than Bates. “But we don’t get a say in it, do we? The question before us is simple. Kill or be killed. I intend to come out of this victorious if only for Thomas. WE have to think of those we care for most. Think of Johnny and your unborn baby. This of Mrs. Moseley,” he said to Mr. Moseley. “Think of Daisy, and her baby,” he said to Andy. “Think of everyone you love… and use that as your inspiration to do the rest. I nearly lost Thomas tonight, and I cannot allow him to be hurt by her again. He’s worth the jail time.”</p><p> </p><p>“Incredible,” Christopher spoke up. “We actually agree on something.”</p><p>They looked at one another, sizing each other up.</p><p>“I assume you’re in on this too?” Richard asked.</p><p>“Oh of course,” Christopher was hardly a blushing violent when it came to crime. “Even if she hadn’t played a part in murdering my men, she’s put a target on Thomas’ head. As you said yourself… he’s worth the jail time.”</p><p>Unable to find an argument in that, Richard said nothing in return and instead looked to the others. Now that they’d created a plan, it seemed odd they were all standing around just… waiting. It was like they needed a go-word, something to finally initiate their desires and set everything into motion.</p><p>“So… we’re agreed?” Daisy was clearly of the same mind as Thomas. “We kill O’Brien?”</p><p>When no one immediately offered their consent, she did something a little peculiar and perhaps telling of her age. Thomas was from the generation of a handshake, but this was less of a shake and more of a call to action. So, Daisy put her hand forward, all scarred and bruised from kitchen work and hard living. She held it out there in mid-air, waiting for the others to join her.</p><p>“We kill O’Brien,” Andy joined his wife, and placed his hand atop her own.</p><p>“We kill O’Brien,” Bates agreed, and leaned forward a bit on his cane so that the tips of his fingers could touch Daisy’s. Anna joined him, but she still looked a little nervous.</p><p>This left only Moseley and Baxter, both of whom joined. Moseley had a terribly glum expression, perhaps feeling like he’d let down the side by agreeing to murder a woman.</p><p>Richard walked forward, stepping around Christopher, and placed his hand atop all the rest.</p><p>Then, he looked at Thomas.</p><p> </p><p>It suddenly struck him that, in all the talk of how they would kill O’Brien and what steps they would take to remain hidden from justice, Thomas himself had never made a comment or offered an opinion. He’d been sitting there the whole time, watching the others make the decision to murder his very first friend.</p><p>He thought of O’Brien. Of how, the very first time he’d ever met her he’d been fourteen years old and the second footman of Downton Abbey. She’d been younger then, a little less jaded by the world and with color in her hair. They’d bonded over their smoking and their plotting; back then, women having a cigarette was taboo, but he’d never minded sharing his pack with her. She’d shared more with him, letting him in on all the secrets and urging him to get her information. They’d been so superior then, at least in his mind… much smarter than their dour little colleagues.</p><p>But then he thought of their inevitable downfall. Of Jimmy Kent, and how she’d used his darkest secret against him so easily. All that time, he’d known hers and yet he’d said nothing. Even now, with the knowledge of her attack on Lady Grantham, he remained silent. He had to wonder why? Why was it easier for him to acknowledge the prospect of killing her than to finally confess to her worst secret? Was it because of the fact that she’d begged him never to tell? That she’d made him swear on all he held secret?</p><p>And what about now when he was the final member of her past to betray her? Had he, in his lack of objection, doomed his first friend to die? And was it really worth it?</p><p>But then he thought of Baxter, and of how she’d opened his heart by painstakingly reminding him that he was human. Of how she’d lifted him up, saved him, and given him a reason to hope when all other hope had fled. Of how pale and sickly she’d been in his arms the night she’d attempted to end her life. Of how the life that she carried inside her was more precious to him than any other thing on earth.</p><p>And finally, he thought of Richard, and the secret that O’Brien held over his head. She’d not hesitated to target him and would likewise find no pity in turning him over to the police as soon as she got the chance. If they were ever to have any future that was their own and safe, he would have to bite the bullet and kill his first friend.</p><p>So, the question that lay before him was less ‘do I kill O’Brien or not’, more than it was ‘who matters more, Richard and Baxter or being a good person that doesn’t commit the sin of murder?’</p><p> </p><p>He walked forward, and tentatively put his bruised hand on top of everyone else’s.</p><p>“… We kill O’Brien,” He whispered with a shudder.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. John Chaytor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Thomas is introduced to the one man in England that might be able to stop Coyle, but still must do battle with O'Brien one last time.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Y'all I am so sorry this took so fucking long for me to put out. In truth, this chapter was supposed to go on for much longer but it got to where I felt it was dragging and I decided to essentially cut this chapter in half to make it easier on myself. I'm going through a period of crippling depression right now. I'm unemployed, my ex-fiancé is being a shit, and I'm feeling pretty worthless. That's no excuse but that is why it took me so long to post. I just genuinely was running on fumes. No warnings for this chapter but the next chapter's going to be insane.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was with a bizarre mixture of uniformity and chaos that Andy was sent upstairs to where Dr. Clarkson was sleeping in the attics, babbling about the return of Thomas and Baxter. In these few moments of quiet, before everyone woke up and panicked, Thomas and Richard secured Christopher beneath the stairs in the basement where none would dare to go. It would be up to Andy to ensure that Carson did not accidentally discover Christopher while Thomas was away getting his ribs seen to. It felt rather indelicate, to lock the man down in the damp and the dark, but he went without a fuss and remained in silence as a thunderous noise descended the stairs.</p><p>The first to come down, right behind Andy, was Dr. Clarkson. He was scandalized to find them both alive, and demanded that Andy ring for an ambulance at once along with the police. Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson were both called for, but Mr. Carson was so punch drunk from sedatives that he could not be roused. As a result, only she came down, and when she saw them standing in the foyer she promptly dissolved into hysterics.</p><p>Dr. Clarkson was a little more practical, forcing Thomas to sit down at the servant’s table and examining his bruised chest. In little more than a housecoat, he listened to Thomas’ breaths with a stethoscope that looked to be fifty years old at least.</p><p>“Fractured ribs,” Dr. Clarkson declared, his thin mouth set into a grim line. “I’ll bet my life on it. The danger being of course that they end up breaking, puncture your lungs, and you bleed to death from the inside out.”</p><p>“Joy,” Thomas croaked. Such was his luck in life that if there were any surety of him breaking ribs, he’d more than likely succeeded. Worse than that was the pounding ache in his skull that was now refusing to go away, resulting in him clutching his head like a man possessed by drink.</p><p>“How’s your head?” Dr. Clarkson pulled away, lacing his stethoscope around his neck, to instead begin examining the wounds about Thomas’ temple and forehead.</p><p>“Thick,” he said, which wasn’t the exact word he’d have used if he were in the right state of mind. Unfortunately, this was the best he could come up with.</p><p>“You need aid,” Dr. Clarkson was close to winning the award for the most obvious man of the year. He gestured to Baxter, who was still holding onto Moseley as if she couldn’t quite believe he was standing beside her. “You both do. I’m concerned for the baby if you’ve been out in the snow.”</p><p>“Not to mention the drop,” he croaked. Damn the snow, that fall should have killed a baby! If there were no lasting damages, he’d be amazed. Yet before Dr. Clarkson could speculate on the drop’s impact, Anna came scurrying up the hall, flagging Dr. Clarkson to get his attention.</p><p>“Dr. Clarkson, the police are here!” Anna said. “They want to see both Mr. Barrow and Mrs. Moseley.”</p><p>But all of this was promptly re-explained the arrival of Sergeant Willas and a new man who was in a word… sharp.</p><p>He reminded Thomas unnervingly of his father if his father had had morals and a soul. He had a distinct beard and mustache, both of which were well combed and oiled. His graying hair was swept back in a fine side part. But his burning eyes were more heathenistic than maintained, and though he never raised his voice or acted aggressively, there was something oddly animal like about him. As if, at any given moment, he could break into a sprint, take out a man, and maul him with his bare hands.</p><p>In short, he terrified Thomas. Willas, all plump and polite, was a pushover compared to this man. Could he sense that Christopher was beneath their feet? Would he know that Thomas was different from other men?</p><p>If he sensed or knew anything, he revealed nothing. Instead, he took off his police cap and examined Thomas with keen interest, “Oh good, you’re alive,” he said. From his tone, you’d think he was talking about a favorable change in the weather. “We need to talk.”</p><p>“I’m afraid it will have to wait until I’ve at least given Mr. Barrow an x-ray and Mrs. Moseley a full examination.”</p><p>“Why don’t I tag along,” said the policeman, in a tone that suggested he was not to be turned down. “I’ve always been fascinated by newfangled medicine. The ambulance has arrived out back.”</p><p>“I want to be there too,” Moseley blurted out. God forbid someone take his wife away twice in the same evening.</p><p>“Fine, yes, but no more dawdling,” Dr. Clarkson turned to Mrs. Hughes, and said, “Lord Grantham?”</p><p>“I’ll tell him, and Mr. Carson,” she promised.</p><p>“No, let <em>him </em>sleep,” Dr. Clarkson urged. “There’s no point in trying to tell him anything tonight, the medicine I’ve given him will make him confused and sleepy. He’s liable to forget it again or think it a dream. He won’t be fully lucid for hours. Tell Lord Grantham, then all of you try and get some sleep. I’ll call in the morning with an update.”</p><p>That seemed to satisfy most of the people. Morning was now four hours away, so there wasn’t much sleep to be had, but they could at least get some kind of rest if they were prompt about it. Without another word, both Andy and Daisy went upstairs to bed; Mrs. Hughes shooed them up, her withered hands trembling from shock. Bates and Anna, however, lingered behind with Anna even offering Baxter her coat. Now doubled up in layers, she would be sufficiently warm against the winter cold.</p><p>“Let’s get you well,” Anna praised her, patting her tenderly on the back. Moseley offered her his arm, and she leaned into him with a contented sigh. As a trio, they made their way to the door.</p><p>Richard, under the guise of being a helping hand, took Thomas’ arm around the back of his neck and carefully walked him along. Each step resulted in a knife-like pain shooting through Thomas’ side. In a curious move of kindness, Bates took Thomas’ other arm so that he was now able to walk without limping. They could barely make headway, the three of them all but touching the opposite sides of the hallway in their cramped quarters. The last out was Mrs. Hughes, who held a set of master keys to the door to make sure no one was locked out.</p><p>As they exited the abbey, the sharp policeman and Willas got back into their motorcar, but not before helping Dr. Clarkson by opening the back of the ambulance. Thomas had never ridden in one before, and it was slightly unnerving to do so now. The sight of a medical gurney ought to have brought him comfort. Instead, as he was hoisted up by multiple hands and made to lay down, Thomas felt like an incumbent. He wished, more than anything, that he could simply lay his head down and rest without everyone asking him if he was well.</p><p>At the door, the sharp policeman regarded both him and Baxter with a curious eye. “Busy night?” he offered, even as Thomas was strapped down to the gurney by one of Dr. Clarkson’s aids.</p><p>“Wretched…” Baxter replied, which didn’t seem to be sufficient enough an answer to cover all that had occurred. Thomas had known wretched nights before. Tonight, however, had been a <em>fucking nightmare. </em></p><p>“Splendid,” he offered her a charming smile. “That’s when I do my best work.”</p><p>“Alright, let’s roll out!” the Aid had a Canadian accent; perhaps he was foreign. The last sight that Thomas had was of Richard at the doors, wistful even as they were closed in his face.</p><p>Lamenting the loss of his love, Thomas let out a sigh and laid his head back down upon the pillow. Across from him, likewise, strapped in, Baxter reached out and clasped his hand in understanding.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The ride to the hospital was shorter than Thomas remembered, and when they arrived Baxter was whisked off at once to a private room where she could be undressed and examined by a nurse. Dr. Clarkson went with her, bidding for Thomas to be put in a separate room where he could lay down and allow his ribs to rest. It was about an hour and a half before Clarkson re-appeared and began his examination on Thomas. This involved a trip to the x-ray machine, which was terrifying and reminded Thomas of something out of a nightmarish novel. It made all sorts of clanging noises when operated, but in the end Thomas was blessed with the amazing image of his bones.</p><p>Like a child, he wondered at the film, examining his ribs and his chest. He couldn’t make heads or tails of it; it seemed to look normal enough, but Dr. Clarkson was not pleased.</p><p>“Well, it’s not as I feared,” Dr. Clarkson began. Always a good sign. He shut off the light box and rubbed at his tired eyes.</p><p>“Good,” So it seemed his fears of broken ribs were unfounded.</p><p>“It’s worse.”</p><p>He deflated rapidly like a balloon being popped at a child’s birthday gathering. Exhausted by his continuous streak of poor luck, Thomas groaned in a low petulant whine.</p><p>“You didn’t fracture your ribs. You broke them. Two of them,” Dr. Clarkson said. “To be more specific, you broke your seventh and sixth rib on your left-hand side… Which corresponds nicely with that bruise you’ve got.” He pointed it out in a damning gesture.</p><p>“Great,” he muttered sarcastically. How was he going to get work done now? Carson would probably used this as an angle to force him out of the house. Again.</p><p>“There’s not much that I can do besides bind your chest and put you on pain medication,” Dr. Clarkson declared, “But I’ll gladly do both. You have to stop putting strain on your body, Thomas. You’re getting older, your body will not be able to heal as quickly as it did when you were young. And I hate to remind you of this, but your smoking habit helps nothing- “</p><p>“Thank you, Dr. Clarkson,” he hoped his tone conveyed how quickly he wanted the conversation shut down. It felt like his mother nagging him to eat more sprouts. “I will take all of that into consideration.”</p><p>The look on Dr. Clarkson’s aged face left little to doubt that he thought poorly of Thomas’ attitude. Silently, Dr. Clarkson walked over to the far wall, opened a medicine cabinet, and rummaged through it for gauze and a glass bottle roughly the size of a strawberry. He brought both back over to Thomas, where he began to fill a syringe with the contents of the bottle; it looked like water.</p><p>“This will sting a bit,” Dr. Clarkson said. In truth, it hurt truly little as he injected Thomas. After a night filled with pain, one little needle was hardly upsetting. It flooded his senses with a strange golden peace, that made him feel almost weightless. He wanted to lay down but couldn’t do so until Dr. Clarkson had bound his ribs. He didn’t put up a fight; arms raised up so that Clarkson could carefully wrap him around and around. It was a methodical, slow dance; he leaned in, he wrapped, he leaned back, he pulled.</p><p>“I should mention,” Dr. Clarkson spoke up after a hesitant moment. “Earlier tonight when we thought you were dead, I had a conversation at the abbey with Mr. Carson- “</p><p>“Mmm…” It was difficult to form words, but that didn’t seem to bother him. For the first time, in a long time, he didn’t feel scared or anxious. He felt only a sense of calm that was so foreign to him it practically was another language.</p><p>“Mr. Mason’s deathbed was brought up…” Dr. Clarkson said, “I said things I shouldn’t have.” And was it Thomas’ imagination or was there the tiniest bit of regret in the man’s voice?</p><p>“… S’alright,” He mumbled. What a funny thing for him to say, actually comforting Dr. Clarkson like they were friends instead of doctor and patient.</p><p>Emboldened by Thomas’ response, Dr. Clarkson hesitantly added, “I suppose I felt angry on your behalf, regarding Mr. Carson. Mr. Mason was forthcoming with me before he I died… I knew what he wanted to say to you. I wished in that moment that Mr. Carson would have shown a fatherlier response, but he didn’t. I spoke out of turn, and I’m sorry.”</p><p>“… He can’t be what he’s not,” Thomas mused. Asking Mr. Carson to show him fatherly affection was like asking him to grow a second head. Amusing but pointless.</p><p>“Well, if you need me to speak to him, to clear the air, I will,” he’d finished binding Thomas’ broken ribs. Slowly, Thomas lowered his arms and took a moment to simply sit and feel out his new wrappings. It was a little constricting to his breathing, but nothing too bothersome… and what was more, it had stopped the pain in his chest.</p><p>Well, maybe that was medicine kicking in.</p><p>“S’alright,” He said again. “I can handle it.” He’d handled Carson for years, after all.</p><p>“Let’s lay you back,” Dr. Clarkson helped him to relax against his pillows, positioning Thomas’ arms beneath his blankets so that his breathing was eased. “Get some sleep, Thomas… tomorrow I’ll give you another dosage.”</p><p>Maybe it was because he was finally safe. Maybe it was the medicine making him talk. Maybe, beneath everything, Thomas was still plum petrified, and it was finally working its way out of his dumbed mouth. Either way, Thomas found words slipping from his lips even as his eyelids grew heavy and his limbs went numb.</p><p>“Dr. Clarkson…” he slurred the words; Dr. Clarkson paused, looking back around. “Don’t let O’Brien leave the house…”</p><p>For a moment, Dr. Clarkson did not reply. Maybe Thomas’ words had been indiscernible.</p><p>“She won’t be going anywhere,” he promised him. Satisfied, Thomas finally allowed himself to be lulled to sleep.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It felt like Thomas was laying in a pile of golden goo for quite a while. At times, he’d fade back into consciousness only to slip easily to sleep again. Laying on his back with his ribs well bound, he felt no pain. At times, however, there was a niggling sensation in the back of his brain that someone was watching him (perhaps a nurse).</p><p>Thomas slowly opened his aching eyes, blinking back a dryness that made him lightly uncomfortable. The window near his bed showed a darkened world outside, with snow falling delicately past. Every so often, a shadow would dance upon the wall. Nothing shocking, just the wick of a candle doing its dance.</p><p>But then, it occurred to Thomas that it was oddly dark to be in the morning. Perhaps he’d not slept as long as he’d thought.</p><p> </p><p>Content to get some more shut eye, Thomas tried to roll away from his broken ribs so that he could sleep on his side. This, unfortunately, caused him to see his bedside which was occupied by Chaytor reading a book.</p><p>It startled him awake, so that he sucked in a breath with eyes wide.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh good,” the policeman smiled, pleased by the turn of events. “You’re up.” He sat his newspaper aside, clearly now much more amused by the sight of Thomas coked out of his mind.</p><p>He tried to sit up, but it was a fruitless effort. His limbs were too heavy; there was a strange golden weight in his stomach, like he’d swallowed a lead ball and couldn’t get it out.</p><p>The policeman did not press him for more: “Don’t rush yourself for my benefit. Relax.”</p><p>It was, unfortunately, all that he could do. He lay back on his pillows, a little more upright but only just. Christ, but his face ached!</p><p>Yet the more that Thomas awakened, the more the nerves began to set in. This was the same policeman who’d been so keen for a chat right when he’d walked through the door a few hours ago. It seemed he’d now sat at Thomas’ bedside to wait for an interview; but had he already spoken to Baxter? And if so, what had she said? How was he supposed to keep up a story when he didn’t know the details? One thing was for certain, the truth was flat out.</p><p>Christopher was a convict, Baxter had committed murder, and O’Brien knew his secret. So, what should he say now?</p><p> </p><p>“There’s no need to look so nervous,” he mused, a tiny quirk of a smile at the corner of his thin lips.</p><p>“Who are you?” Thomas asked.</p><p>“Lieutenant Colonel John Chaytor DSO,” Chaytor introduced. At this, he offered his hand for Thomas to shake; a weak grip was never a good impression to make but at this time of night Thomas could offer little else.</p><p>“And you are Mr. Thomas Barrow,” He declared. So, it seemed that he’d come prepared.</p><p>“I suppose you want to talk about tonight?” He asked. Chaytor shook his head, which was quite a relief.</p><p>“No, I want to talk about…” He checked his wristwatch. “Last night. You’ve been asleep for a day.”</p><p>So, it seemed that Chaytor enjoyed an intellectual banter. On a normal day, Thomas felt certain he could hold his own against such a man; in this moment when his bearings were weak and his future unclear, he wanted nothing more than to cause an enormous distraction and hide until Chaytor went away.</p><p>“There’s been one hell of a to-do at the abbey,” Chaytor explained. “Your employer, Mr. Carson, was most astounded by the fact that you’d survived. I think it nearly gave him another heart attack.”</p><p>“…Have you spoken to Mrs. Moseley?” He asked.</p><p>“Yes,” Chaytor said. Another bit of bad luck, it seemed. “And now I want to speak to you.”</p><p> </p><p>But without knowing what Baxter had said, Thomas stood to wreck everyone that he cared about. It was the sort of pressure that might make any man crumple.</p><p>“You’re looking rather nervous again,” Chaytor mused, stroking at his mustache. “I have to wonder why.”</p><p>“I don’t know what you’ve been told.”</p><p>It was a mark of the medicine still pouring through him; he winced, bitter at the slip of the tongue. Christ, what he’d give for Chaytor to go away!</p><p>“Well, tell me the truth,” Chaytor spoke as if to a child, with such strangely tender affection that it made Thomas wonder what Baxter might have said to him. “And that’ll save you a great deal of trouble. You’ve done nothing wrong; you’ve committed no crime. You’re the victim here. I just want to know what you know.”</p><p>But he wasn’t the only in the dark. Thomas desperately needed to know what <em>Chaytor </em>knew. “Does O’Brien know that I’m here?” he asked. Her awareness, above all, would be key to what he needed to say. If O’Brien did not know he was alive, then her story would as of yet still hold water. The moment people knew he’d lived, it was impossible to say how she’d react. She might panic and run… or…</p><p>She might make good on her oldest threat.</p><p>“I’m interested as to why that should matter,” Chaytor gave away nothing for free, it seemed. Bitter, and knowing that he was going to wind up putting his foot in his mouth one way or another, Thomas looked out the window onto a poorly manicured courtyard bathed in twilight. Thinning snow was beginning to reveal bits of fresh grass beneath.</p><p>“She spun quite the tale,” Chaytor mused. “Said she’d tried to save you. Did she?”</p><p>“What did Mrs. Moseley say?” Thomas asked.</p><p>“That doesn’t matter right now,” once again, Chaytor would not budge, “What matters is what you say.”</p><p>Knowing it would make him sound suspect, but having no other option, Thomas finally turned back to Chaytor and declared, “I cannot say sir.”</p><p>If he wanted to play hard ball, so could Thomas.</p><p>“Cannot or will not?” Chaytor parried.</p><p>“I cannot say, sir.”</p><p>“Aha…” Chaytor grinned with an open-mouthed chuckle, his tongue visible as he traced the edge of his upper teeth. “I see. I’m starting to think you’re scared… is it of O’Brien?”</p><p>“Did you find Coyle?” Until Chaytor gave him answers, he would give none back in return.</p><p>“No,” Chaytor paused to fiddle with his police cap which he’d jaunted over a knee. Was it Thomas’ imagination, or was Chaytor a little bitter about that? “He’s gone. But I never expected to find him anyways, at least not straight away. People like Coyle don’t face the light of day well. But we did find the cave, and the rest. Quite of a bit of a gun fight, by the front… O’Brien didn’t mention that. Several people died, all of them hardened criminals and quite a few of them from the York County Prison break. Have to wonder what happened there?”</p><p>“Like you said… a gun fight,” so O’Brien had not mentioned the scrimmage, and now the police knew. There were more holes in her story than a slice of Swiss. Had they already hauled her off for questioning?</p><p>“Who shot the men?” Chaytor asked.</p><p>The truth was that Baxter had done it, and by god she’d done it well. Christopher had been preoccupied with keeping Thomas safe, Thomas had been too weak to fight. But the police did not know this; what if they found out about Baxter’s involvement and tried to send her back to prison?</p><p>Desperate to keep her safe, Thomas decided to lie: “I did. I stole a gun and tried to force my way out the front. Coyle cut us off.”</p><p>Chaytor sucked a tiny bit on his teeth; it seemed to be a soothing motion that set back stress. “Thomas…” he allowed the ‘s’ to stretch on for quite a bit. “I think we both know that that’s not what happened.”</p><p>He flushed, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. Had Baxter actually confessed?</p><p>“Mrs. Moseley has a record,” Chaytor continued on. “She has to be honest, or we send her back to complete her sentence. She told me the truth, that she killed the men because you were too injured to fight. Now why did you try to lie to me?”</p><p>Unsure of what to say next, Thomas returned to looking out the window at the courtyard.</p><p>“I can see it in your eyes,” Chaytor continued on. “You’re scared of something. I’ve made a living out of reading people’s faces. I’d be dead by now if I couldn’t tell when someone was getting ready to run. Something or someone, has got you so twisted up you’re content to lie to the face of a DSO. That’s not a good thing, Thomas. Why don’t you just tell me the truth about what happened, and let me help you?”</p><p>It was a tantalizing offer, to fall into the idea that Chaytor might rescue him from O’Brien and Coyle… but he didn’t know the full truth about Thomas. That he was gay. That he was harboring a fugitive. His fortunes could change at the drop of a pin, and fanciful dreams of kind policemen would not save him from a cell.</p><p>But he could say none of this, so instead he merely recanted the facts in the most watered-down version he possessed.</p><p>“… We were taken to a room in a pit,” Thomas said.</p><p>“I know,” Chaytor cut him off. “I saw it.”</p><p>“That’s where Coyle beat me,” another lie,” Where he tied us up and left us. We managed to use a broken bottle to cut our binds and get free- “</p><p>“I don’t you did,” Chaytor said. “I think you were completely frizzled out by that point. I think Mrs. Moseley got you free.”</p><p>“Fine, yes,” he snapped, getting a little irritated with the nagging; Chaytor just grinned away, perhaps enjoying getting under Thomas’ skin. “She got me free. Then we got out and tried to leave the cave but- “</p><p>“And the two bodies I found in that pit?” Chaytor offered. “What about them?”</p><p>It was yet again another sin on Baxter’s record, and one that he hated to confess to. Or perhaps he could wiggle his way out of this one?</p><p>“I was unconscious,” Thomas said. “I don’t know who- “</p><p>“Yes, you do,” Chaytor cut him off again. “You know because she woke you up and helped you stand… got you out of there as best she could with you nearly beaten to death. You saw the bodies. You know who killed them. Those two men were going to defile you. She had to do away with them, didn’t she?”</p><p>“She’s not a murderer,” he warned. “And if you put me on the stand, I’ll lie.”</p><p>“I never said she was a murderer,” Chaytor held up his hands in mock surrender. “It’s not a crime to kill in self-defense, and I could see that position being easily argued in this case. After all, I’m the one whose been assigned by the King to see off Coyle. I’m not exactly unsympathetic to your cause.” He paused, taking a moment to note how Thomas still refused to look at him. Every moment he was judging him, trying to peel back his layers. “So, she helps you to the lift, you go up, you make your way to the front… and then a gun fight.”</p><p>“Yes,” Thomas could no more deny that than he could his own limbs.</p><p>“Was O’Brien there?”</p><p>“I cannot say sir.”</p><p>“Did she attack you?” maybe he was beginning to figure it out anyways. “Did she try to kill you?”</p><p>“I cannot say sir.”</p><p>“Mm…” Chaytor rubbed at his bearded chin, eyes narrowed for a moment with internal calculations. He finally returned to Thomas, a little more levelheaded than before. “So how did you escape, since the front was out?”</p><p>“Coyle forced us to run,” he shrugged. “It’s as you say, no way of getting’ out the front. We’d have been torn to pieces. We ran down this passageway, an’ found a waterfall. A huge waterfall.”</p><p>“How did you know it was there?” Chaytor asked.</p><p>“We didn’t,” he said. “We ran in a blind panic, and it just so happened it took us to that room. And it wasn’t exactly our favorite spot out, I can tell you. We thought maybe we could climb down, but we didn’t have the time. It was too slippery, too steep. One wrong move from going too fast, the whole way down you’d feel it.”</p><p>“Yes… that was a rather serious drop,” Chaytor agreed. “So, then what?”</p><p>“Then they found us,” he admitted. “Almost immediately. I think they’d been right on our tail. And Coyle was going to shoot us… and Mrs. Moseley jumped, and took me with her.”</p><p>Something odd happened.</p><p>Chaytor’s smile became less forced and more genuine. His face was softening with knowing; somehow, he was gathering pieces from the scant breadcrumbs Thomas was willing to throw. Maybe this was one of the reasons why he’d become DSO.</p><p>“… Okay,” he agreed. “Then what?”</p><p>“Well, when I came to, we were on the banks of the river,” Thomas explained. “And we were freezing and dying and in horrible pain… hell I don’t know how we lived. I came to first, I got Mrs. Moseley up. We managed to find this tiny little shack, but it was barely four walls and a roof. Still, it had a pit for a fire, and I was able to get one going with my lighter.” He gestured to his side table where it sat innocently upon a steel tray next to his handkerchief. Chaytor leaned over and plucked it up, examining the weathered brass.</p><p>“I’m amazed it even worked,” Thomas said, watching as Chaytor flicked the wheel. When the flame snapped to life, he seemed amazed.</p><p>“They don’t make them like this anymore,” he agreed, before closing Thomas’ lighter and setting it back down. “Without it, you might not have made it.”</p><p>“We dried off, and then we had to make the decision. Wait till morning or try to get back to the abbey that night. We decided to make a break for it. We found a hill, climbed it, saw the abbey in the distance, made our way in that general direction until we started to realize where we were by memory…. That’s the rest of it.”</p><p>“I see…” Chaytor picked up his hat, fiddling with it like he was worrying at the band. “Well, I think it’s safe to say that you are the luckiest man alive, tonight. Coyle has no idea that you’re still with us. For now, let’s see if we can’t keep it that way until I can find him.”</p><p>“do you think you can?” He wondered.</p><p>“Oh yes…” and there was a dark edge to his voice, in companionship with a wicked smile. “Yes, I think I’m going to find him. And I think you’re going to help me do it. But not tonight, you need to rest and heal.”</p><p>“Don’t you have more questions?” Thomas asked. He’d mentioned nothing more about O’Brien since that one question. It felt odd for him to give up the ghost.</p><p>“No,” Chaytor just smiled pleasantly, rising up from his chair. “No, you answered them all. I’ll be in touch, rest well.” And with that he left. Thomas watched him go, feeling slightly unsure about the whole interaction. Why did he get the notion that he’d given up more than he ought to?</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>His interview with Barrow concluded, John Chaytor made his way outside into the hall and carefully shut the door behind him. The man still had that terrified edge about him, like he half expected to be arrested himself. After a lifetime of working to discover the inner cogs of criminals, he knew that Barrow wasn’t the dangerous sort. No… Barrow was frightened of something else. Or perhaps <em>someone </em>else.</p><p>In the hall, John found his colleague Willas waiting. He’d been just outside the door, too hesitant to join the interview (but this was by design). John had wanted a one on one with Barrow, just as he’d wanted a one on one with Moseley.</p><p>“Well?” Willas asked.</p><p>“Were you listening?” John took a step away from the door, his voice low and soft.</p><p>“I was,” he didn’t look proud of it, “Though I hate to admit it.”</p><p>“Did you hear him say it?”</p><p>Willas narrowed his eyes, unsure about what the ‘it’ could be referring to.</p><p>“… ‘They’ found us,” John repeated the words. “Plural. They. Coyle wasn’t alone when he chased Moseley and Barrow. Now who else could have been with him?”</p><p>Willas was filled with repugnant disgust at the thought. Yet before either of them could debate this newfound information further, they were brought to a pause by the passing of Dr. Clarkson. John reached out to him, catching him as he walked by.</p><p>“Dr. Clarkson, we were introduced briefly before. I’m DSO Chaytor,” They shook hands. “I’ve just left Barrow, he’s woken up.”</p><p>“Ah, was he lucid?” Dr. Clarkson asked. “What did he say?”</p><p>“I can’t reveal anything regarding an ongoing investigation, particularly one as big as they, but there are leads that need addressing with your person so we will be in touch.”</p><p>“I only ask because he said something odd to me and I thought you might like to know,” Dr. Clarkson said.</p><p>“Anything you tell us is kept in confidence,” Willas was practically a parrot for boot licking anthology by this point. John had to appreciate his naïve optimism even at the tender age of 58.</p><p>“He said, ‘Don’t let O’Brien out of the house’,” Dr. Clarkson said. I don’t know why, but there was something very odd about the way he said it like… he was…”</p><p>“Frightened?” John supplied.</p><p>“Yes, which is odd. He doesn’t scare easily,” Clarkson agreed.</p><p>“Hmm... Thank you, Dr. Clarkson, I’m glad you told me.” Dr. Clarkson let them be, heading into Barrow’s room to no doubt assess his patient’s condition for himself. Alone once again, John and Willas turned to one another.</p><p> </p><p>“Something is not right,” Willas whispered low and soft.</p><p>“I smell a rat,” John agreed.</p><p>“So what do we do?” Willas asked.</p><p>“Tomorrow, take a couple of men and head to the abbey. Ask O’Brien to come down to the station,” Chaytor said. “I’ll be waiting for her there.”</p><p>“And if she doesn’t comply?” Willas asked.</p><p>“Take her by force,” Chaytor said. “She knows about Coyle, and if I’m right, she’s in cahoots with him. I want her information, and I don’t care how I get it.”</p><p>The two men left the hospital, their plans for the morn sealed.</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>The following morning, Thomas awoke to a fresh pair of clothes brought down from the abbey, and a notice that a car would be coming by at three to take him home.</p><p>He still felt like hell (and frankly looked it) but with the guiding aid of a nurse Thomas was able to bath and re-bandage his wounds. He parted his hair to the side with a copious amount of gel, and attempted to dress without over-straining himself. As a result, his normal three piece suit was devoid of its normal vest and his bracers had to be taken out a knot so that they didn’t pinch him at the shoulder. He felt a little loose in his trousers, but at least he could walk easier.</p><p> </p><p>The hour for three found him waiting by the front door with Baxter, who was looking back to normal and no longer clad in a wrap of a mattress. Instead, she had her day dress of egg yellow, and a light brown cloche.</p><p>She kept looking around at the hillsides, her eyes scanning every person that walked past.</p><p>“Anyone you recognize?” Thomas murmured out of the corner of his mouth.</p><p>“No,” she finally said. “No I think we’re alright. But I want us under cover as soon as possible. I don’t know where Coyle is… but I have a feeling he’s still close.”</p><p>That was enough to put a chill in his bones.</p><p>Luckily enough, this macabre conversation was put on hold by the arrival of the Grantham motorcar. This was an unusual luxury, normally servant’s rode on the wagonette. At the driver’s seat was Branson, at his side was Moseley looking fretful for his bride.</p><p>It was with a slight sting of regret that Thomas realized Richard had not come as well. Baxter noticed his glum expression.</p><p>“It would have looked odd if he’d come, I’m sure,” She said.</p><p>“I’m sure,” he echoed.</p><p> </p><p>Moseley clambered out of the car, nearly tripping over himself as he made to embrace his wife. They shared a tender kiss which made Thomas want to retch.</p><p>“My darling,” Moseley clasped her hands in his own. “How do you feel?”</p><p>“Much better,” She assured. “and the baby is fine.”</p><p>At this, Moseley beamed like a fool. He looked to Thomas, blinking back tears. “Thomas, how are you?”</p><p>“Sore,” he wouldn’t lie. “Richard?”</p><p>“At home, waiting for you,” he promised. “Let’s hurry, I don’t like being out in the open after the other night.”</p><p>“Nor do I,” Thomas followed behind as they got back into the car. Branson was alone in the front seat, grumbling them a small hello as he drove them back out onto the main road.</p><p> </p><p>“This was nice of the family,” Baxter wondered.</p><p>“Lady Grantham didn’t want you walking on the road,” Moseley said.</p><p>“And O’Brien?”</p><p>“She hasn’t come downstairs yet, milkin’ it for all it’s worth,” Moseley added with a grumble.</p><p>“Mm,” Baxter was far from surprised. It felt good to have the wind in their hair, to not be cooped up in a bed or a cave.</p><p>“We’ve been eh… taking care of things. Below,” And at this, Moseley gestured to his feet. It took a second for the other shoe to drop, but Thomas realized that Moseley was speaking about Christopher. It was good to know that even in his absence, someone had the sense of mind to make sure their guest was getting fed and being protected from the police. Christ, and to think that Carson was only a floor above completely oblivious!</p><p>“How is our friend?” Thomas asked.</p><p>“Oddly okay!” Moseley was slightly impressed by the notion. “Despite the…” he gestured to his chest. Thomas nodded, understanding; the bullet wound.</p><p>“We ought to try to find someone to… I don’t know…” Even as he said it, he knew it was ridiculous. How would they possibly be able to find medical help for Christopher without inevitably betraying his location?</p><p>“Don’t worry about him,” Moseley said. “He’s tougher than he looks. I thought at first he was unhealthy because of how thin he was, but he’s as hardy as a reed!” And it was true that Christopher was built a bit like a steel beam.</p><p>In the front seat, driving along, Thomas noticed that Branson flickered his eyes to the side, watching them warily and unsure of what they were talking about. They had to be careful not to reveal anything too important in public.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It was a blessedly short drive back to Downton Abbey. In the wagonette it might have taken fifteen minutes longer, but the motorcar bore them speedily home. The snows of winter were starting to peel back with bright green shoots showing beneath. It would be several months more before Spring was well and truly holding court upon the land. Until then, they’d have to grin and bear it. As Branson pulled the motorcar around, Thomas was surprised to find both Lord and Lady Grantham waiting out front along with Carson. It would be the first time that they’d all greeted each other since their supposed deaths.</p><p>Branson shut off the car and Moseley hopped out. Baxter was the first to exit, with Thomas bringing up the rear. Despite the fact that she was pregnant, he still moved slower with bound ribs. They gathered before one another, with Branson off to the side looking decidedly uncomfortable.</p><p>He didn’t like being around Thomas, and the feeling was mutual.</p><p>“Barrow….” Lord Grantham let out a breath, like he’d been holding it since the other day. “Thank god you’re alive!”</p><p>He even dared to shake Thomas’ hand, which was bizarre and did little to settle the mood. Next to him, Baxter gave him a tiny if pained smile.</p><p>“Mrs. Moseley, we were terribly worried!” He shook her hand too, there would be no favorites (besides the Bates’).</p><p>“I’m sorry to have been a bother, M’lord-“It was hard not to look at Carson, to treat him as normal when part of him felt automatically pulled to the man. He kept wondering how would Carson have reacted, when he was told that Thomas was alive. Would he have cared? Would he have even batted an eye?</p><p>“Nonsense!” Lord Grantham was back to his normal suave self, clearly having been rattled by the close brush with Coyle. “Dr. Clarkson has telephone and said that you’re to be treated with velvet gloves until your ribs heal, and that’s all that we will say about that. Carson will step in and take over until you’re ready- “</p><p>Oh no, there would be <em>none </em>of that!</p><p>“I’m fine!” he blurted out, eager to rob the notion from his mind. “Truly, M’lord, I’ll manage.”</p><p>“No, Barrow, I insist,” and he was back to being patronizing again. “You’ll do as the doctor orders and that’s final. Mrs. Moseley, would you like time to rest too? You’re certainly obliged to it- “</p><p>“No thank you, M’lord,” She assured. “We’re fine, the two of us,” And at this she carefully patted the slight bulge of her growing stomach. Behind Lord Grantham’s back, Carson made a face of revulsion. It was less to do with her pregnancy, and more to do with the fact that any woman should admit so openly to being with child before the pure and chaste ears of Lord and Lady Grantham.</p><p>“Would it bother you terribly if you were to step back in as my maid until we can find another?” Lady Grantham asked.</p><p>“Not at all,” She said. “But what will you do about O’Brien?”</p><p>“She’ll find somewhere to go, and when she leaves, we’ll wish her well,” Lady Grantham said with a smile. At her side, Lord Grantham was less sure. If he shot Thomas a furtive look, neither man allowed the women to see it.</p><p>“I’m sure you’ll want to see her,” Lady Grantham was still carrying on to Baxter. “After all, she tried to save you and your baby. Why not go see her now and thank her?”</p><p>Baxter turned, her heel grinding a bit on the pebble dash underneath and gave Thomas an unnerving smile. It was the most bizarre expression he’d ever seen. He realized, in retrospect, it was the expression of vengeance.</p><p><em>Let’s tear her apart, </em>she seemed to be saying.</p><p>“Thank you, M’lady,” Baxter said.</p><p>“Are we excused?” He asked.</p><p>“Certainly,” and Lord Grantham let them be with a generous sweep of the hand. It wasn’t exactly a pleasant sensation, to hobble along down the gravel path. Every so often, Baxter would stretch out her hand to help him along; Moseley on his other side presented a solid barrier should he begin to fall. Once or twice, he simply had to stop and take a moment to let the pain in his ribs subside.</p><p>Carson, bringing up the rear, did not hassle him to walk faster.</p><p>“Can you manage, Mr. Barrow?” He asked with a rumble.</p><p>“Fine,” He griped. “I’m fine.”</p><p>By the time they reached the back door, however, all he really wanted to do was sit down. He felt oddly winded, probably a mark of the wrappings. Part of him selfishly wondered where Richard was. He had been expecting him to be waiting by the back door. To find the area yard empty made him feel a little blue.</p><p>Moseley tried to open the door only to find it locked. “Oh-“He was taken aback.</p><p>But he needn’t have worried. It opened within a millisecond, and on the other side with a burning look in his eyes was Richard. He sought Thomas out at once, and when he found him, he looked instantly relieved. It was like a great weight had been lifted from his chest. He stepped over the threshold, ushering Thomas in before the others.</p><p>“Good, you’re back,” Richard didn’t even bother with Baxter, besides a nod of the head.</p><p>“Where is she?” He murmured; Carson shut the door behind them all and Thomas noted that there were several new locks in place. They’d clearly been busy in his absence.</p><p>“Upstairs,” Richard whispered back. “Milking it for all she’s worth. No one’s told her anything.”</p><p>“Good,” It put a stab of bitterness in his heart. “Let’s see how she plays this out when she finally shows her head.”</p><p>They walked down the hall, with Baxter shrugging out of her coat so that her belly momentarily strained against her dress. Thomas needed help to get out of his own coat; it hurt the whole time and he couldn’t help but wince. Richard helped him, going slow and taking care as he shouldered the coat past his elbows.</p><p>“Broken ribs, two of ‘em,” He mumbled in way of explanation. “Bound ‘em up but we’re still in a tight spot.”</p><p>Richard let out a sigh of exhaustion. “Take the blessing, could have been more than two.”</p><p>“Christ, it feels like more than two.”</p><p>They entered into the servant’s hall, only to be received with a glory of fanfare that might have been more fit for a king than two bedraggled servants that had gotten trapped in a pit. The first to welcome them home was Mrs. Hughes, who in an act which went against her normally Victorian sensibilities, threw her arms about Baxter in a dear hug. Baxter was just as surprised as him, amazed at the warmth of her co-workers.</p><p>“Oh, thank god!” She praised; hands clasped in joy. “Thank god, indeed-!” She took Baxter’s hand in her own, cupping it kindly. “I was so terribly worried for you, Mrs. Moseley- “</p><p>“How are you?” Anna asked. It was a comparison of bellies, though Anna was larger by far. She was the closest to her due date.</p><p>“Fine, completely fine,” she assured them both.</p><p>“And the baby-?”</p><p>“We’re both fine,” she said with a smile.</p><p> “It’s a miracle. An absolute miracle.” Mrs. Hughes was delighted by the return of normalcy. In the shadow of the three women, Thomas felt sorely overlooked.</p><p>“And I’m chopped liver- “He muttered. Yet even as he made to move around Mrs. Hughes and sort out a cup of tea from the kitchen, he was taken aback as Mrs. Hughes stopped him with a hand on his arms.</p><p>“Don’t you start-“it seemed that it was now his turn to be smothered, which was both humiliating and comforting in the same gesture. She cupped his face in both her hands, gripping him tight like his Gran might have. “You scared me, Thomas,” and the hoarse texture of her voice left little to question. Baxter was ‘Mrs. Moseley’ to her, but despite his rank as butler he would forever and always be ‘Thomas’ to her. Still that errant little footman causing a ruckus and being a snot.</p><p>“Steady on,” It wouldn’t do to have the butler disgraced in such a way before the maids and the hall boy. They gathered around the servant’s table, each of them taking their seat. This was the hour for break, when normally people would be catching upon reading letters from home or mending tears in their clothes. Today, however, people were more eager to celebrate. Even Carson was in a more generous mood, bringing up the rear of their motley crew. Though he resolutely kept his seat at the head of the table, he offered Thomas the padded bottom of his seat so that his bruising wouldn’t be troubled. Mrs. Hughes was agog at her husband’s empathy.</p><p>“Goodness look at you two being hospitable,” She remarked. Both Thomas and Carson sat in their respective chairs, with him immediately to the butler’s right and Baxter across from him. Neither man looked at the other, but it put a tiny flutter in Thomas’ chest to know that Carson had thought him worthy of a seat cushion.</p><p><em>Christ, what’s wrong with me? </em>He thought. <em>Getting soppy over a seat. </em></p><p>From the door came a meaty voice and an even meatier presence: “And here we are!” Mrs. Patmore clapped Thomas on the shoulder. He winced aloud but bit his tongue lest he cause a ruckus. He wondered when he went soft in his old age.</p><p>“You scared me to death!” The cook declared. “And I shan’t hide and claim I didn’t lose sleep.”</p><p>“Well, I’m here and I’m alive,” Baxter assured her.</p><p>“And for that we thank god,” she said.</p><p>“Indeed,” Mr. Carson poured himself a cup of tea from the communal kettle. Just when Thomas thought that he’d been glanced over once again, Mrs. Patmore turned to him and offered him a small plate stacked high with raspberry biscuits. This was an uncommon treat, normally meant as a desert after dinner. They were his favorite sweet, and one that had resulted in him packing on the pounds as his metabolism had begun to slow. He stared up at her in amazement.</p><p>“Don’t think I forgot you over her,” She gave him a strangely bright smile, and sat the plate before him. “Do you think I forgot your favorite biscuit?”</p><p>“S’ hardly meant for teatime,” he wondered.</p><p>“Maybe not,” she wiped her hands on her apron, sauntering back to the kitchen. “But I’d rather see you eat them than anyone else on this earth.”</p><p>For some reason, that statement touched him much like Carson offering him a seat cushion. It wasn’t the warm, over the top adoration that Bates or Anna might have received… but these biscuits were his favorite, and to eat them after being trapped in a mine made him feel almost human again. He even dared to share one with Richard in front of the others. Down the table, he noted Andy stiffen at the sight, going a slight shade of green. Richard and Thomas ate from the same plate, the pair of them with their heads bowed.</p><p>The biscuits were sweet and tangy on his tongue.</p><p>“How bad is it?” Richard asked. “Just two?”</p><p>“Just two,” he confirmed. How funny, to sit and speak to his lover at the table just as Bates and Anna were speaking across from him. So often, he’d been isolated. Now, he was attached. “How’s our friend?”</p><p>“Not bad,” Richard assured him, pausing to take a bite of a biscuit. “Course the big question is infection. But he’s not got a fever and the sight looks normal enough. Not that I’ve been looking but he’s not said anything at any rate.”</p><p>“Well I-“Thomas paused, noting the appearance of black heels coming down the servant’s stairwell.</p><p>He snapped his fingers rapidly, catching Baxter’s attention across the table. She looked around, her eyes burning as they sought the stairwell. They were not the only ones to look. Everyone who’d been in the basement to hear the whole sorry tale of O’Brien’s treachery was now waiting on tenterhooks as the woman herself descended the stairs with her arm in a sling. Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson, caught unawares, wondering at the peculiar behavior of their staff.</p><p> </p><p>She arrived at the bottom of the stairs, glanced up on her way to the kitchen, then did an abrupt double take with all the blood draining out of her pouchy face.</p><p>Thomas and Baxter stared at her, both of them murderous but silent.</p><p>The last time they’d seen O’Brien, the pair of them had had a gun pointed to their heads and a dead fall drop awaiting them. It had seemed like the end, in that moment. Like the tiny precious life inside of Baxter would be squashed out before even knowing birth. Now, sitting amongst their brethren with the full truth laid bare upon the table, there was no room for kindness anymore in Thomas’ heart.</p><p>He wanted to watch her burn. He wanted to hear her scream as her flesh sizzled and dropped from her charcoal bones.</p><p>Mrs. Hughes knew nothing, save that O’Brien had been stabbed and that Baxter and Thomas had been saved from a near death sentence. She gasped at the sight of O’Brien, standing up from the table to gesture for her to come closer.</p><p>“Mrs. O’Brien!” She “You shouldn’t be downstairs! You ought to be resting- but-oh-!” She looked back over her shoulder at Thomas and Baxter, “No, that’s right you’d have no idea, would you? You must come and see! It’s a miracle! They survived!”</p><p>“…Miracle…” O’Brien the repeated the word, though it could scarcely be farther from the truth. When O’Brien did not proclaim her delight, Mrs. Hughes became dismayed.</p><p>Thomas returned his gaze to his coffee, taking a sip before addressing Albert who sat at the far end of the table keeping company with Gertie.</p><p>“Albert…” the boy perked his head up, curious.</p><p>“Yes, Mr. Barrow,” he sat up a little straighter in his chair, a slight show of respect to Thomas’ status in the house.</p><p>“I’m going to need you to run into town today,” Thomas said. “There’ll be a package for you to pick up at the chemists. Straight there and back, please.”</p><p>It was a quiet acknowledge to everyone that sat at the table, to everyone who knew the plan…</p><p><em>Even now, I’ll sow the seeds of your destruction, </em>he thought bitterly.</p><p>“Can I get some sweets while I’m in town, Mr. Barrow?” Albert asked. “Mr. Bakewell has sherbet lemons and I’ve been saving up!”</p><p>“Fair enough,” he would not deny a child candy. “But hurry back, mind you.”</p><p>“I will, I promise!” he said, a gleam in his eyes. Oh, to be young and excited about a sherbet lemon.</p><p> </p><p>“While you’re in town, I’ll have you stop at the apothecary too,” Mr. Carson spoke up from his seat at the head of the table. “Dr. Clarkson has put forward a few prescriptions that we need to fill.”</p><p>“Yes Mr. Carson.”</p><p>“Christ, I bet it’s a pill fit for a horse,” Thomas complained. He moodily munched on yet another biscuit, wishing he could find somewhere to hide that Dr. Clarkson wouldn’t find him.</p><p>Across the table, Baxter said, “You’ll take them, and you’ll be happy for it.”</p><p>“Thomas in never happier than when he’s complaining,” Bates reminded them all, with a slight smirk.</p><p> </p><p>O’Brien observed all of this, silent and pale. Mrs. Hughes couldn’t wrap her head around such peculiar behavior, but no one else was offering explanations. When O’Brien began to try to make her way back upstairs, Mrs. Hughes looked like she wanted to call out after her. But nothing she said would have made the woman stay, and no one wanted her in the room anyway. Bates was grinding down on a tea biscuit like it had done him a personal wrong. Daisy’s fingers were clenched white around the handle of their communal coffee pot. It was she that had been the first to declare her allegiance to their dastardly plan, and she who looked to Baxter with a fervent desire for blood.</p><p>The two women sized one another up, with Baxter giving Daisy the tiniest nod.</p><p>Even as O’Brien staggered back upstairs, her fate was already sealed.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>After nibbling every last raspberry biscuit that Mrs. Patmore put in front of him, Thomas headed to his office to begin pouring over paperwork. There was a mountain to go through after the turbulence in the village church. Father Travis wanted reparations, blaming the staff for the loss of his reception hall, but the abbey barely had enough funds to pay for itself, nevertheless the church.</p><p>To occupy himself and avoid this irritating task, Thomas instead called the apothecary in town which was run by a man named Eric Gentley. Gentley was an elderly chap who knew more about chemicals and concoctions than any other in Grantham. He’d been a devoted friend to the Crawley family since before Thomas had been born.</p><p>It was easy to spin a yarn regarding a need for arsenic. Gentley offered no wary questions; it wasn’t the first time that they’d purchased poison from his shop for pests or cleaning.</p><p> </p><p>Of course, it just so happened that while Thomas was on the telephone with Gentley ordering supplies for the house, Carson entered his office. They stared at one another, a silent understanding passing between them as Carson shut the door and allowed them to rest in peace. He contented himself with fixing a slightly crooked picture frame on the wall.</p><p>“<em>I’ll have it ready for you by six,” </em>Mr. Gentley said. <em>“Will you be available then?” </em></p><p>“Yes, I’ll have my man come pick it up,” Thomas doodled absently on the side of his planner. Over and over again, he traced the words ‘R &amp; T’ in a floral script. “A boy by the name of Albert.”</p><p>Carson watched him, waiting patiently with his hands clasped behind his back.</p><p>
  <em>“Very good Mr. Barrow, I’ll bill it to the house account.” </em>
</p><p>“Thank you, Mr. Gentley. Goodbye.” He hung up the phone, signaling to Carson that he was now free for discussion.</p><p>“And what are we ordering?” Carson stepped forward to pick up Thomas’ aged clipboard, flipping through it at a leisurely pace to see what the stocks were.</p><p>“I’m afraid we’ve struck a case of rats in the pantry,” Thomas lied.</p><p>“Oh, not again.”</p><p>“I’ve ordered an agent for it,” Thomas said, “So I’ll have Albert swing by and pick it up. I suppose it’s a mark of the cold weather, all creature great and small want somewhere warm and dry to hide.”</p><p>“Perhaps you should have Andrew go collect it,” Mr. Carson wondered, “After all, poisons are not playthings, and there are murderers on the loose.”</p><p>“I don’t know...” it was a fair remark, but Albert was fast growing up and every opportunity that he had to prove himself was an opportunity he ought to seize. “Albert’s a growing boy. I want to give him a chance to prove himself. But I’ll most certainly have a police officer go with him,” Thomas promised.</p><p>A long silence then followed suit, with both men staring at each other unsure of what to say next.</p><p>“ I wanted to… talk to you…” His words were stiff and pausing. “About the other night.”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“…When I thought that you were dead, I….” But he could not continue. Something was shifting within Carson. Something deep and painful that neither of them had touched in years.</p><p>They ended up staring at one another like fools, neither knowing quite what to say to adequately address the issue.</p><p>“… Well, I’m not dead,” was all he could think to say.</p><p>“No, you’re not.” Carson gave a tutting cough, needing a second to recompose himself before saying, “But there is something else I need to talk to you about. And I think you won’t be happy about it.”</p><p>“I’m never happy,” he quipped. Mr. Carson gave a noncommittal shrug, in benign agreement.</p><p>“Mr. Ellis, the other night, behaved towards my person in a manner that needs to be addressed.”</p><p>“Behaved?”</p><p>“He spoke to me in a most vicious manner,” Carson went on. After so many years of listening to the man talk, Thomas could tell when he was getting annoyed (but was not annoyed with him). He had this shuddering edge to his tone; his consonants became crisper and his vowels more elongated. “I know you’re friendly with him, but I will not allow for disrespect.”</p><p>“Very well,” Thomas said, “I shall speak with him.” In fact, he wasn’t planning on saying much besides ‘what did you get into now?’</p><p>Unfortunately, Carson didn’t let it go.</p><p>“Good, I’ll fetch him now,” And before Thomas could so much as say ‘Stop’, Carson was out the door and leaving Thomas wincing in his desk chair.</p><p>“Fucking God…” He relaxed back, rubbing at his brow. Why did he endure such insanities? Whatever Richard had said, it probably was just something that Carson had overblown. He made to strike up a cigarette, but even as he put it to his lips, he felt his ribs sting with pain. Would it be a good idea to smoke now?</p><p>Just then, Carson re-entered with Richard right behind him. He looked sour, and upon spotting Thomas at his desk gave him a meaningful stare.</p><p><em>Get me out of this, </em>he seemed to be saying.</p><p><em>Obviously, </em>Thomas’ mouth quirked with the tiniest smile.</p><p>“Mr. Ellis,” Thomas paused to light his cigarette, took a slight drag, then began to splutter with pain.</p><p>He tutted and put it out at once. What a waste!</p><p>“Clearly not my day,” He muttered.</p><p>“Give it time,” Richard said. “Your ribs will be sore for a while.”</p><p>“Yes, but I really need a fag,” he complained. Still, it couldn’t be helped. Carson coughed, his stare turning sharp.</p><p>Like a dog with a bone, that one!</p><p>“Mr. Carson has brought it to my attention that there was a….” he gestured in thin air for a moment, unsure of what to call it. “Moment, the other night. Something to do with disrespect. I’m sure you know what I’m referring to?”</p><p>“I have a feeling,” Richard grumbled.</p><p>“Well, in future please refrain from such moments,” Thomas said. “Mr. Carson is elder statesman and should be respected.”</p><p>“Certainly, Mr. Barrow, is that all?”</p><p>“That’s all- “</p><p>“that is most certainly not all!” Carson complained. “I would like an apology. Believe it or not, I have feelings, and they were wounded last night!”</p><p>“Would you?” Richard sneered. “Well, I’d like a bottle of 1812 claret, but I doubt I’m going to get it.”</p><p>Even as Carson opened his mouth to start another round, Thomas cut them both off. “Mr. Ellis… I believe we just spoke about this?”</p><p>He’d been hoping for something akin to a ‘fine’ or ‘whatever you say’. But whatever had happened last night between the two men was clearly deeper than he’d first imagined. As a result, neither was willing to let the side down, and the argument was starting up again.</p><p>“I will not apologize for what I said,” Richard snapped. “I don’t care what role you fill in this house. It was damn well deserved, and I don’t regret a single word.”</p><p>“How dare you- “</p><p>“Your memory was being treated like trash!” Richard turned to Thomas.</p><p>“I’m sorry?” He spluttered, taken aback. Treated like trash?</p><p>“Oh, did he not mention that, in his sob story?” Richard demanded, hands on hips. “The whole lot of them were weeping and gnashing their teeth over the idea of losing Mrs. Moseley, but no one seemed capable of sparing a single thought for you and when I reminded them that two people were possibly dead, not one, they all told me I ought to be grateful that your life was over!”</p><p>“…What?” All his original indignation fell away to dismay. He felt like a chill din that moment, being told that fairies didn’t actually exist. Some tiny part of him had begun to believe that he was liked. After the other night in the basement, it had seemed like they’d turned a corner. But…</p><p>“That is not what we said!” Mr. Carson retorted.</p><p>“I believe it was Mr. Bates who said that I ought to be grateful that your life was over because of how much you suffered, and then Mr. Carson made it clear that you had a past here, and that the reason no one was grieving over you was because of it!”</p><p>“That’s not-“Carson tried again, but Richard cut him off.</p><p>“It was tasteless and disgusting to witness, he could have been dead and all you could summon up was ‘he had a past’?” Richard demanded. “Who among us doesn’t have a past? Were you born on a pedestal, or did you just climb up there when no one was looking?”</p><p>“You are perilously close to the window!”</p><p>“You’re the butler here!” they were close to shouting now. “You have no authority over me! Oh-!” Richard turned to Thomas again, eyes popping, “Did he mention he tried to fire me?”</p><p>“He did not,” Thomas said through clenched teeth.</p><p>“Now look here!” Where before this had started with a simple apology, Carson was now up to his neck in accusations and it seemed that he’d had just about enough. “I thought you were dead! I had a group of distraught staff looking for direction! I had to make the decision to uphold order! I didn’t do it with a glad heart, I did it because there was no one else in the room who could take the lead!”</p><p> </p><p>And the awful thing was, Thomas could see the logic in that. He was, after all, the butler. Carson was the elder statesman. Had something actually happened to him, it was easy to see how Carson would simply take up the role of butler again and wait to find someone else to fill the role so that he could go back into retirement.</p><p>“And as for the rest….” Carson was flabbergasted, knowing that he didn’t have much of a leg to stand on “We were in … shock… It was a terrible moment. I don’t know what else to say.”</p><p>“Had a mouthful the other night,” Richard quipped. Carson looked ready to strike him.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, Mr. Ellis for your defense of my character,” if they were left to their own devices, Thomas was certain they’d devolve into a shouting match. Carson was bitter at how everything had suddenly turned. Was it Thomas’ imagination, or had the man been hoping to have a deeper conversation?</p><p>For a moment, they all stayed in a flustered silence. Richard refused to look at Carson, Carson refused to look at Thomas, and Thomas was sat staring at both men wondering what on earth would become of them now?</p><p>Finally, Carson seemed to resolve himself. He looked up and said in a deep rumbling voice, “Thomas, I can explain- “</p><p>“I’d rather you didn’t,” Thomas said. He’d had just enough of the man’s excuses where his own person was concerned.</p><p>A soft knock at the door had them all slightly rattled. It opened to reveal, of all people, Lord Grantham who was quite surprised to find an audience waiting for him.</p><p>“Carson! Barrow. Ellis-“He greeted them all in turn, shutting the door behind him. Thomas jerked out of his chair, an automatic instinct after years of service.</p><p>He winced, his ribs throbbing, “Lord Grantham.”</p><p>“My lord?” Carson wondered. “How can we be of service?”</p><p>“Barrow, you’re supposed to be resting,” Lord Grantham was heavily annoyed to find the opposite true. But he couldn’t have possibly come all the way down here just to chide him.</p><p>“I’m resting in my chair, M’lord,” he quipped. Lord Grantham was unimpressed.</p><p>“You’ll fight us to the very end on this, I see?”</p><p>But the atmosphere of cold irritation was still evident, particularly on Richard’s face. Lord Grantham wasn’t immune to servant disputes, despite the fact that he lived in a completely different world. It was a unique mark of his character that had always drawn Thomas to him as an employer.</p><p>“… Is this a bad time?” Lord Grantham asked.</p><p>“Certainly not, M’lord,” Despite the fact that he was no longer butler, Carson still took precedence when speaking to Lord Grantham. “We were merely discussing… house politics.” This was a polite way of inferring they were preparing to skin each other alive.</p><p> </p><p>Richard rolled his eyes; unfortunately, Lord Grantham saw this. Mercifully, he did not mention it to Carson and continued in albeit in a gentler tone than before.</p><p>“I see, well, I needed to speak to Barrow regarding some difficult news,” Lord Grantham said. “But I suppose it wouldn’t hurt if either of you were here as well. After all, everyone else will soon know.” And there was a markable sadness in his voice which made Thomas’ insides squirm. Why did he have a feeling this had something to do with money?</p><p>“I’ve been looking over the house accounts for the late Dowager, and myself. I’m afraid the news is not good.”</p><p>“How so, m’lord,” Thomas kept his face devoid of emotion, but a quick glance at Richard concurred that he knew Thomas was nervous.</p><p>“We need to find a way to cut costs and promptly,” Lord Grantham said. “I’m afraid that I was under the impression the Dowager would leave us with more money than she actually did. Unfortunately, it seems that her assets were pretty much squandered by the time of her passing. I don’t know what to do, save to start letting people go.”</p><p>But the fact of the matter was, they were pretty much down to bare bones staff. The only people who could feasibly let go were Gertie and Albert, both of whom needed the jobs more than anyone else. Andy was another viable cut, but he also was expecting a baby and needed to be able to provide for his family.</p><p>Realizing he’d been quiet for far too long, Thomas finally bit out, “I see.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t want to fire people,” Lord Grantham said in dismay. “I take no pleasure in depriving people of their livelihood. A house that does not employ is as useful to this county as a glass hammer, as my late mother once said. And, like most times, she was right.”</p><p> </p><p>But before Thomas could reply to this, the door was opened to reveal Albert. He did a double take at the sight of Lord Grantham.</p><p>“Pardon me, M’lord,” Albert squeaked out, slightly nervous at the appearance of his employer below stares. “It’s just that there’s a visitor here and- “</p><p>“Have Mrs. Hughes sort it out and shut the door,” Carson bade. Albert dared not go against his elder statesman in front of the others.</p><p>“Yes sir, but it’s just that- “</p><p>“No buts, now shut the door!” Carson snapped.</p><p>Sheepish, Albert left at once, shutting the door behind him. Whoever it was, they would simply have to wait.</p><p>“Let me look into our accounts, M’lord… I’ll see what I can figure out,” Thomas said. “I might be able to come up with something.” The fact of the matter was he was fucking clueless, but Richard or Baxter might have an idea and he’d certainly be confiding in them.</p><p>“I don’t like the sound of that,” Carson grumbled.</p><p>“Well, we clearly need to cut corners, or someone’s job will be in jeopardy,” Thomas warned. Richard was biting on his tongue, holding back his irritation in front of Lord Grantham. “So, let’s see what there is to cut.”</p><p>“But we cannot allow standards to slip,” Carson added.</p><p>“I’m not saying we should, I’m just saying that if we need to save money, then we need to look at our expenses with a prudent eye. Otherwise, someone’s going to be on the chopping block. Who would you rather that be? Gertie, who was saved from the poorhouse? Albert, whose providing for his ill mother? Or perhaps Andy, who’s expecting a baby? Who’s going to be the one to lose their livelihood for the sake of 1850’s standards.”</p><p>“We could always cut Ellis,” Carson snapped, “and you could dress his lordship instead.”</p><p>Next to Carson, Richard slowly turned and looked at Carson with such heat and loathing that it was a miracle from God he did not drop dead as a result. Carson seemed to realize he’d gone over the line and pursed his lips as he fumbled for an excuse. Lord Grantham was disturbed by the uncharacteristically harsh display.</p><p>Of course, this was the Carson that Thomas had known for years. The Carson that Lord Grantham had refused to admit existed.</p><p>“… Am I pushing in on a difficult moment?” This might have sounded like a gentle question to the outer listener, but to Carson and the rest it was a clear warning that Lord Grantham was displeased.</p><p>When Carson did not immediately answer, Thomas tentatively took the wheel. “There has been some to do regarding the night of my supposed death between Mr. Ellis and Mr. Carson. I am currently sorting it.”</p><p>“To do, how?” Lord Grantham asked.</p><p>Carson looked ashamed. Knowing that the man’s respect was worth its weight in gold, Thomas proceeded forward with caution. Richard looked ready to throw him to the dogs, but Thomas kept him in line with a warning glance.</p><p><em>Let me handle this, </em>he wanted to say. Richard sighed, but did not interject.</p><p>“There was some discussion as to how to grieve properly. Mr. Ellis defended my character; Mr. Carson took offense. They grew heated, and words were said. Mr. Carson made the decision that my death warranted him stepping back in as butler… in hindsight, I can see the logic of it. He therefore made to ‘fire’ Mr. Ellis. We were in the middle of understanding that particular whip when you knocked.”</p><p>Lord Grantham turned to his oldest servant, a man on whom he’d come to look for moral guidance and support. He almost seemed sad, “Carson, is this true?”</p><p>Outside, Thomas could hear a rapid babbling. Clearly their guests were getting raucous. He almost wanted to go outside and shout at them to quiet down; so tender and sensitive was this moment that it felt like it could shatter like glass.</p><p>“It’s a little more complicated than that, M’lord… but I suspect Mr. Barrow was trying to keep you at a distance for the sake of propriety.”</p><p>He’d hit the nail on the head. Thomas gave a tiny noncommittal shrug.</p><p>“… We were mourning Mrs. Moseley, when the incident started,” Carson began. “We thought her dead, and her baby with her. It was a terrible thing to contemplate, and Mr. Moseley was beside himself with grief… after all, it had been his wedding day. We were trying to come to grips with each layer of it, it was hardly a simple process… Mr. Ellis took offense that we were not also simultaneously mourning Mr. Barrow. What he did not know, because I did not show it, is that I was mourning Mr. Barrow. Indeed, it was something which I still in this moment am coming to struggle with.”</p><p>This made Thomas look up in wonder.</p><p>“Thomas was trained under me. He’d worked here for decades, unlike Mrs. Moseley. But I don’t show my grief publicly, and because I wasn’t wailing and gnashing my teeth, he spoke to me in a most despicable way. He said that I ought to have died instead of Mr. Mason.”</p><p>“Ellis?” Lord Grantham demanded, agog. “Is this true?”</p><p>But instead of showing remorse in the face of his employer, Richard doubled down. “I said what I said, and I will not take it back, my lord.”</p><p>Lord Grantham was dismayed, “I feel that sort of coarse behavior is more suited to O’Brien than yourself. Why did you take such offense?”</p><p>Thomas leaned forward a bit, and though it was far from advisable to show emotion in front of Lord Grantham, he silently implored Richard to reach for some compassion.</p><p>“Richard…” He murmured.</p><p>For a moment, Richard needed to compose himself, biting on his tongue as he tried to come up with what to say.</p><p>“… I feel that Mr. Carson is harsh unnecessarily harsh to Mr. Barrow,” Richard said. “And Dr. Clarkson made it clear that Mr. Mason felt the same way- “</p><p>“Richard,” Thomas was the one to cut him off, a flush of embarrassment coming up his cheeks. “I understand why you want to speak out on my behalf but on this subject, I’m going to have to ask you not to. This is a very private matter, between Mr. Carson and myself, and I don’t want it to be discussed in front of Lord Grantham. We have an understanding, even if you don’t share it- “</p><p>“But he said he wasn’t mourning you!” Richard cried out, angry that even Thomas would not listen to him. “He said some coddswhallop like ‘the reason we’re not mourning him is because he was a prick’. He said that!”</p><p>“I did not say that!” Carson snapped, angry.</p><p>“Well, you said something like it!” Richard shot back. “and you know you did, so don’t try to deny it. Or should I go get Mr. Moseley and bring him in here? He was quick to tell you that you didn’t know what you were talking about- “</p><p>“And shall we continue on and tell Lord Grantham what you said to me?” Carson was flustering, still clearly angry from whatever Richard had proclaimed.</p><p>“I think you need to,” Lord Grantham agreed. “So that we can get to the bottom of this before it gets out to the other members of staff.”</p><p>“I said that you were unfeeling, cold, and cruel…” And with each word that Richard spoke, he inched ever closer to Carson, his eyes blazing. “I said that I looked forward to the day that you died, because on that day you’d have to apologize to Thomas on your knees before God even considered letting you into heaven. And that in that moment of humiliation and contrition, you’d finally know what Thomas felt like every single time you berated him in front of the others for something he couldn’t change.”</p><p>And with this, Carson bitterly gestured at Richard, glaring to Lord Grantham as if to silently see, <em>See? See what he said to me? </em></p><p>Lord Grantham let out an exhausted breath. Clearly whatever he’d been expecting, it hadn’t been that.</p><p>“So, what now? You fire me?” Richard demanded. “For what we all know is true?”</p><p>“You’re not being fired,” Thomas shot that down at once. “I won’t allow it. No matter what the others say.”</p><p>“I am hardly ‘the other’, Thomas,” Lord Grantham warned.</p><p>“But you wouldn’t fire him, surely.”</p><p>“I have to admit that this is very… unexpected,” Lord Grantham finally said. Unexpected, to a member of the upper class, was on the fringe of unacceptable.</p><p>A harried hammering at the door made all three of them jump. It was wrenched open to reveal Mrs. Hughes who looked absolutely petrified. It was enough to make Thomas stagger up out of his chair again despite the pain in his ribs.</p><p>“Thomas you have to come right now!” Mrs. Hughes begged. “It’s O’Brien!”</p><p>“What’s happened?” Lord Grantham asked at once.</p><p>“The police have come for her,” Mrs. Hughes babbled. It put an electric shock through Thomas blood, “And I think she’s about to say something that she shouldn’t!”</p><p>He looked to Richard, blood draining from his face.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It seemed the worst afternoon of his life was about to begin.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. The Sword of Damocles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Backed into a corner, O'Brien pulls her final and most devastating card... but an unexpected angel saves the day. .</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I wanted to start by thanking everyone who wrote to me and expressed both their condolences and support in the comments. I've printed out the reviews and often look at them when I need a perk-up. Never ever think your words go unheeded, as your support is the most endearing thing to me right now. Truly. I wish I could shake each and every one of your hands (after we sanitize first). Tomorrow, March 3rd, is my 30th birthday. Certainly never thought that a new decade would dawn like this. </p><p>So this chapter is the last one where something really bad happens to Thomas. After this, while there is chaos in other forms, Thomas always comes out on top as the victor or in a better place than he started. </p><p>Warnings include <b>police violence, period typical homophobia, and foul language</b></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Thomas had been small, he’d observed a terrible storm with lightening bolts that shook the panes of his family’s ancient attic home. For days after, he’d had nightmares of being struck by lightning always with the same flow of events. In the dreams he’d see sparks shooting up from his feet, drifting into the sky as a mighty crash of white had come down; it had been both too fast for Thomas to avoid and slow enough so that he could watch each agonizing strike hit his fragile body.</p><p>About two years later, a man had been working in the fields on a plow when he’d been struck by lightening and had survived. His father had caught him at the pub a month later and had shared a pint with him over the much-debated subject of what it felt like and what he remembered. His answers had ranged from: <em>“Bugger me, Nathan, I can’t remember sod all,”</em> to, <em>“Cor, but it happens too fast for you to notice it! One minute I was plowin, next minute I was out cold. Wouldn’t have believed it actually happen if the misses hadn’t seen it.”</em></p><p>So clearly Thomas’ imagination had been a little off the mark.</p><p> </p><p>As he’d grown older, he’d developed new fears which had persisted long beyond his terror of lightening. The strongest, the most persistent, had been the fear that he would be discovered by the police and arrested for his foul nature. The dance in York had been a night out of hell until Richard had saved him.</p><p>But this was worse, and much more so, for in York Thomas had been on his own with no one he’d known to see his shame. Here, in the basement of Downton Abbey, everyone he’d ever respected or loved was there to bear witness to his downfall.</p><p>Though it was foolish of him, though he ought to run for his life, Thomas found himself drawn like a moth to the flame into the servant’s hall. There, he found a cacophony of voices all harping at one another. At his elbow, Lord Grantham was taken aback. He’d never seen his staff in such dismay, a far cry from their normal seamless flow.</p><p> </p><p>There, in the far corner of the room, was O’Brien. Her arm in a cast, her face ashen white, she was like an animal ready to gnaw its leg off if only to get free from a hunter. The hunter in question were three policemen, one which Thomas recognized and two whom he did not. Sergeant Willas cut an incredibly imposing figure, fists clenched and eyes blazing. At his side was an enormous policeman with back hair and a beef eater complexion. He seemed the type capable of wrestling a perp to the ground bare-handed, the kind that you wouldn’t want to go up against if you were on the run. Bringing up this group was the least imposing of the men, a young recruit with sandy hair and shockingly blue eyes. He was rather handsome, lean, and tall compared to his beefy cohort.</p><p>O’Brien saw him, and her gaze hardened.</p><p>Thomas’ mouth went dry.</p><p>The arguments were never ceasing, with each servant voicing their opinion on O’Brien’s supposed crimes; mute, Thomas watched Baxter in the opposite corner having to be held bodily back by Moseley. She was close to having words, furious.</p><p>“She’s a liar!” Baxter was saying to the police. “Everything she’s saying is a lie!”</p><p>“There’s no evidence against me!” She shouted, purple in the face. “You have nothing! Nothing!!”</p><p>“Your position was far too strange to be coincidence!” The young one snapped.</p><p>“Well, that’s what it was! I was going to get a drink- “</p><p>“The road to the Grantham Arms is no where near the road to the Grantham Mines,” Said the meaty one, “For obvious reasons! People don’t like to drink coal dust!”</p><p>In a quick tactic of switch and diversion, she gave up the ghost on trying to free herself and instead decided to pin someone else with her. In this case, Thomas.</p><p>“This is his doing!” She pointed a vindictive finger, her eyes blazing with rage. “He did this!”</p><p>“Barrow has nothing to do with this,” Sergeant Willas scoffed. “He was a victim if anything- “</p><p>“A victim of his own poor choices!” O’Brien countered. “He’s got everything to do with it!”</p><p>“She’s lying,” he couldn’t resist getting his own in. It felt so furiously good to get one up on O’Brien. To shout her sins from the rooftops and let all proclaim it. “She’s panicking because she knows she’s close to being caught!”</p><p>“You have nothing on me!” She shouted. But there was something in her eyes which spoke of danger. The police were getting closer, she had no more allies in the house, and Thomas and Baxter were both witnesses that she could no longer touch without arising suspicion. And so…?</p><p>“I know your secret,” she seethed. “And I’ll tell. I’ll tell everyone.”</p><p>“What secret?” The meaty policeman wondered, agog at yet another screw turn in what ought to be a shut and dry case.</p><p>And here it was, laid bare in the flesh. With ice in his throat, Thomas looked to Richard and then to the exits of the room. If he tried to run, he’d look guilty. But he was guilty. Every woman in the room besides O’Brien was pregnant and married; he could not claim any of them as a spouse or a moll without implicating that she was cheating on her husband and that the baby she carried might be his own.</p><p>Stock still, Thomas felt a bead of sweat run down the back of his neck. The panic must have shown on his face, for Sergeant Willas and the young policeman were both growing as confused as their colleague.</p><p>“What’s going on here?” The young one demanded. Sergeant Willas turned to Lord Grantham.</p><p>“Lord Grantham, just what the hell is going on in this house?” He demanded.</p><p>“I do not know what she is alluding to,” Lord Grantham swore up and down. “And everyone in this room can vouch for Barrow’s character- “</p><p>“Can they?” O’Brien countered. “When you all know what he’s guilty of! What you’re guilty of hiding!”</p><p>Desperate to change the subject and get O’Brien back in the hot water, Thomas took charge of the conversation and forcibly steered it back, “She’s in league with Coyle!” He snapped. “She was there the night I died, she’s just throwing smoke in the air to try and buy herself time! She tried to kill us both!”</p><p>Mrs. Hughes gasped, her eyes wide. At her side, Carson looked like he might be ill. The idea that O’Brien had lied to them, had pretended to be a martyr, when in fact she’d been the one to nearly kill Thomas and Baxter seemed to them to be tantamount to a sin of the soul. Mrs. Patmore, ever the nervous one, was on the verge of fainting as she clutched at her throat where her faded apron lay tied.</p><p>Lord Grantham, a man of different character, was steel jawed as he asked, “Is this true Barrow?”</p><p>“Yes, it’s true,” He begged. Even as O’Brien babbled nonsensically. “Please believe me, I couldn’t say anything until I could ascertain what she might do if I dared!”</p><p>“Why didn’t you tell Chaytor when he spoke to you at the hospital? Why did you lie?” Sergeant Willas demanded at once, furious to find out his superior had been lied to.</p><p>“I had no choice!” Thomas beseeched. “I didn’t know what she’d do if I dared to say something! There are children in this house!” And though this was technically a lie, it was also oddly enough the truth. There was a part of him that feared O’Brien might dare to harm the innocent if it meant padding her bed. But Thomas had inadvertently touched on a sore spot without meaning to. He’d thought only of George, Catherine, and Sybbie… but O’Brien’s memories of children in the house had nothing to do with any of the subjects still living.</p><p>Her eyes were popping with madness. “He’s lying, he’s the one in league with Coyle! They made a pact to steal money from the house!”</p><p>“Oh, please dear God- “Thomas snorted, something crossed between a laugh and a scoff crossing his lips. He looked to Baxter, who seemed ready to be sick with contempt.</p><p>“What garbage!” she declared. “And everyone here can back it up!”</p><p>At once, a chorus of agreement surrounded the room.</p><p>“O’Brien’s been acting suspiciously for weeks,” Bates said.</p><p>“She’s a fiend,” Richard seethed. “The quicker you lock her up, the safer we all will be. I bet she knows where Coyle is now!”</p><p>“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Baxter muttered. “If anyone in the room might know, it’s me, and I’m clueless. He could be anywhere- “but no one was listening to her. Everyone was too busy yelling at each other, the conversation getting more and more out of hand.</p><p>“Alright, ALRIGHT-!” O’Brien shrieked, so that in lieu of her deafening shout all others fell silent. “So maybe he’s not in league with Coyle… but he’s not innocent, is he?”</p><p>“And what do you mean by that?” Sergeant Willas demanded?</p><p>Thomas’ chest began to tighten, his throat growing hot and his lungs seeming to turn painfully sensitive. Fear, and panic, were coursing through him, the likes of which he had not known since right before he’d attempted to take his own life.</p><p>“… I warned you…” She whispered, and it was only because the room was now silent that she could be heard. “I warned you not to mess with me. I warned you to back off, and let me do what I had to do, but you just kept pushing and pushing me. You…” And she pointed at him with her good hand. “You are the reason… for this…”</p><p>And it suddenly dawned upon Thomas, that O’Brien had nothing else to lose. And in that, she was the most dangerous she’d ever been.</p><p>In his fears of a policeman finding out, it had looked a lot like this. Someone finally cracking under pressure and releasing all his demons.</p><p>His heart pounded wildly in his throat.</p><p>“Alright, enough with the shady games!” The beefy policeman demanded, bristling next to Thomas. “Spit it out before I lock you in arms!”</p><p>“If you want to arrest me for a crime I didn’t commit just because it’s convenient, you might as well arrest a real criminal too. Because he’s been committing a crime for years. A moral crime. A <em>sexual </em>crime- “</p><p>“Don’t you dare- “Baxter blurted out, cutting her off. “Don’t you dare say another word!”</p><p>“Don’t listen to her- “Moseley begged Sergeant Willas, “Don’t listen to a word she’s saying, she’s backed against a wall and she’s panicking!”</p><p>“Sergeant- “Lord Grantham tried to say something, but Sergeant Willas held up a hand. He looked pale and wary now, his eyes taking in each drawn and frightened face. And Thomas realized what he must be thinking: <em>Why are they all panicking, if she’s telling a lie? What are they hiding? Why are they afraid? </em></p><p>Their help had unwittingly damned him.</p><p>“What are you insisting?” Sergeant Willas asked. When Baxter tried to cut in, he stopped her. “No!” he snapped, a hand up and out. He turned back to O’Brien. “What exactly are you labeling Mr. Barrow with. Say it in plain English. What moral, sexual crime has he committed?”</p><p>“Oh, is it so hard to guess?” She sneered, “Look at him… Look at how delicate he is. How feminine.”</p><p>Willas was taken aback. He started and stopped several sentences, unsure of what to make of such an accusation.</p><p>But the beefy policeman was more worldly than Willas, clearly. “The hell are you saying, woman?” he demanded. “Are you calling him a lavender?”</p><p>“O’Brien- “Lord Grantham and Mrs. Hughes were fighting for first position, each of them beseeching her. Had Thomas been capable of examining the room, of breathing, of looking anywhere besides O’Brien, he might have seen how the others were frightened. How they looked just as terrified as he felt.</p><p> </p><p>How none of them wanted this.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” And she could not stop now. She’d gone too far. She needed to vent it all out of herself before her own conscience caught up with her and she’d be forced to stop. She began to rant and rave, practically foaming at the mouth with every accusatory word she said.</p><p>“And everyone in this sodding house has known about it for years and has hidden it from the police because they’re soft! And their weakness, their cowardice, allowed Mr. Mason to be murdered! Allowed a murderer into this village! If you want to arrest anybody, arrest him!” She pointed at him with a clawed finger. “And while you’re at it, go on ahead and arrest the other one behind him- “</p><p>Instinctively, Thomas spread his arms out, hiding Richard behind him.</p><p>“Ellis, that one, they’re lovers! Both of them are homosexuals! They’re slutting after one another, flouting God’s law! Spitting on the rules of man! Look at them! Look at the way they’re protecting each other in front of you right now! You want to take me fine but take them too! Take them too now while you can-!”</p><p>Sergeant Willas and the younger policemen were sickened, each of them turning from O’Brien to Thomas with such awful formality that Thomas felt himself shrink about an inch in fear. The others were absolutely silent, each of them waiting in a terrifying purgatory to see what the police would do.</p><p>Unbidden, Thomas slowly slid his eyes to Carson. In that moment, when he ought to be pleading his case before the police, he instead pled before the one man whom he’d needed support from the most. The one man who had mattered more than any other, in a time when he’d had a future, in a time before all his sins had been spread on the front page.</p><p>The one man that might have redeemed him.</p><p>Silently, he tried to implore with his eyes, tried to explain to Carson all that he’d wanted to say. How he’d needed him, how he’d wanted to tell him, but had been too afraid to say or do anything. How Richard had been defending him not as a colleague or even as a friend but as a lover. That the reason why he’d taken such livid offense the other night had been because he’d been in mourning. In shock, even.</p><p>And awfully, Carson seemed to realize these things. His baggy eyes were as wide as Thomas had ever seen them, soaking up each silent word that Thomas screamed. In those ancient eyes, Thomas could see the horror of Carson’s realization, his own self-loathing for not realizing, and how deeply sorry he was that he’d not been able to stop O’Brien himself. How he’d lost control of the staff, and now blamed himself.</p><p><em>Why didn’t you tell me? </em>He seemed to be asking.</p><p><em>I was scared, </em>Thomas tried to say.</p><p>
  <em>Of what? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Of this. Of exactly this. </em>
</p><p>“Barrow-!”</p><p>His name, spoken with such acidity and cruelty, made him jerk back to the present. He looked to the policemen and found the beefy one right up close to his face. When had he gotten so close?</p><p>He was furious, his pouchy cheeks turning bright red with disgust.</p><p>“Is it true?” He demanded, his tone making it clear that he’d been speaking before and Thomas simply hadn’t registered it.</p><p> </p><p>Instead of answering him, Thomas turned (achingly, slowly) to Richard who stood right behind him.</p><p>In his face, Thomas saw his future slipping away. That fragile beauty he’d once cradled to his chest to protect. That sweet thing he couldn’t live without. He’d known it would end this way. And as his breathes became tighter, and his fingers started to tremble, Thomas’ will broke.</p><p>“I’m so sorry- “He blurted.</p><p>“A kiss to sustain me till heaven- “Richard surged forward.</p><p> </p><p>In front of God and everyone, Carson, Lord Grantham, O’Brien, and those bastard policemen, Richard grabbed Thomas tight by the arms and lifted him up into a passionate kiss. The noises of shock and disgust, the shouts of their names, the sounds of furniture being moved as policemen swarmed in- all of it fell on deaf ears. All that Thomas could register in that one final second was how warm Richard’s lips were upon his own. How sweet his cologne smelled to his nose. How soft the skin of his face was beneath his fingers, with his delicate fringe tickling Thomas’ forehead. They held onto each other as tightly as they could, knowing that when they parted again it would not be by their choosing. And when hands began to pull at Thomas, he held on all the tighter, begging God and the universe for one last miracle.</p><p><em>Let him live, </em>Thomas prayed in that moment, <em>Let him survive this and get away. Let him live a life beyond a cell- </em></p><p>“Bloody perverts!”</p><p>A painful grip at the back of his head and his elbow forced Thomas off. He screamed, pain exploding in his broken ribs as he was torn forcibly away from Richard and slammed without warning onto the table. He struggled back with all the fight he could muster, shouting at the top of his lungs and kicking out so that two chairs were knocked back. The others were terrified, begging for mercy, but the policeman wouldn’t listen.</p><p>Sergeant Willas still looked like he might be sick, but he wasn’t moving in to arrest him. Why?</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Get off me!” Thomas screamed, thrashing violently to try and escape even as the policeman managed to get one of his wrists in a handcuff. This process was stopped short by Richard who threw himself bodily against the officer and forced him back.</p><p>“Don’t bloody touch him!” Richard shouted; a fist curled back in a sharp punch. Ganged up two on one, the officer had no choice but to resort to force lest he be torn apart. He yanked out his baton and with a well-aimed strike pistol whipped Richard hard across the temple. The blow was so powerful it knocked him off his feet, so that he fell backwards paralyzed onto the flagstone floor. Baxter shrieked, trying to seize him, but she was stopped by Moseley who feared that baton and what it might do to his unborn child.</p><p>Now able to arrest Thomas unbidden, the policeman at once resumed handcuffing him. He had to slam Thomas into the table again twice even as Thomas tried to reach Richard; he was silent on the floor.</p><p>“Richard!” Thomas screamed his lover’s name, begging him to rise. “God, Richard say something! Please! Get up! Please!”</p><p>Even with his wrists now bound and his ribs screaming in pain, Richard began to stir. Dizzied by the blow, he looked up and saw Thomas distraught; it was enough to summon him to action once more.</p><p>He stumbled up from the floor.</p><p>“You wanna take him you’ll have to kill me,” Richard said sluggishly.</p><p>“Deal,” The policeman would win no favors by sparing a sodomite. As Richard surged forward for a second time, he raised his baton.</p><p>“Richard-!” Thomas voice was rent upon the air as the baton whistled down. It crashed into Richard’s beautiful face so that a wave of crimson shot out of his nose. It was now broken-</p><p>“Let go of him!” Thomas screamed at the policeman, all the loathing and fear within him pouring out. “Don’t touch him!! NO-!!”</p><p>The policeman was going to strike again, even with Richard slumped against the table, bloodied. He had a fiery look in his eyes, desperate to seek his own justice.</p><p>The baton came down-!”</p><p>A weathered hand shot out from behind, grabbing the baton just before it hit Richard in the face. A struggle commenced, with the policeman looking around in shock to see that Sergeant Willas was now forcibly pulling him back.</p><p>Thomas watched, in shock, as the two cops fought one another. The beefy one was shocked; never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that one of his fellows would stop him from making an arrest.</p><p>Thomas tried to hobble over to Richard, now bleeding upon the table. He was struggling to get up, breathing erratically.</p><p>“Ri- “Thomas couldn’t even get his name out, too frightened to speak properly.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you doin-?!” The beefy policeman tried to force Willas off, even as he yanked away the baton and threw it across the room so that it clattered on the floor.</p><p>The policeman gaped at him, astounded. “What the fuck d’you think you’re doing?!” He demanded.</p><p>When Richard began to struggle upward again, the beefy policeman tried to break away and stop him. But before he could lay another hand on Richard, something inside Willas snapped. Like a man possessed, he grabbed his colleague and threw him to the wall, pinning him there like he was the criminal.</p><p>“Howard what the hell has gotten into you?!” he cried out. “They’re criminals!”</p><p>“And theft?!” Willas spat, “And adultery?! Are those not crimes that are punishable as well?!”</p><p>“I- “The policeman struggled against Willas’ expert hold. “I dunno what you’re talkin’ about- “</p><p>“I know about your girl in Rippon!” Willas said. “I know about the child. I know about the money you stole to keep her quiet. I know all about everything- “</p><p>“You’re bluffin- “</p><p>“Her names’ Kate,” Willas said, “An’ the child’s name is Bill. I know about them. And if you try to take Barrow or Ellis, I’ll tell your wife about every sodding thing that you’ve done! Everything!”</p><p>Incensed, the beefy policeman finally struggled and fought his way free of Willas. He turned, the pair of them nose to nose with Willas now solidly blocking his path to Thomas and Richard.</p><p>“The fuck is wrong with you!?” He shouted, furious. “I’m a policeman! I’m a brother in arms-!”</p><p>“You’re a colleague I’ll give you that,” Willas agreed, though he certainly didn’t sound happy about it. “But your character to me is akin to Coyle. I’ve known about this house for years; I’ve known about Barrow for years…….”</p><p>And at this, Thomas staggered, looking up at the man in wonder.</p><p>“What?” Lord Grantham was amazed, touched by this rare insight.</p><p>“Well, I’ve suspected,” Willas amended. “But I was never going to say anything.”</p><p>For a moment, all that could be heard was Thomas and Richard’s combined breathing. Slumping slightly against the table, and bleeding from the nose, Richard pressed himself tight to Thomas trying to protect him from the beefy policeman’s furious gaze.</p><p>“You’re fucking mental,” The policeman seethed.</p><p>“Maybe,” And there was a shade of self-disgust in Willas’ voice. “Or maybe I learned my lesson after ’99. I destroyed a man once, and I will not do it again. Not when it’s wrong. Now, can I count on you to shut your bleedin’ mouth? Or are you going to make things difficult and ruin your marriage and career?”</p><p>For a moment, the policeman did not know what to say. Furious, he gestured with shaking at hands at where Richard and Thomas leaned into one another.</p><p>“They’re filthy perverts!” He cursed.</p><p>“Adultery is perversion in the bible,” Willas countered. “So, it’s kettle and pot, isn’t it?”</p><p>Bitter at being likened to Thomas and Richard, the policeman jerked away from Willas. He fumed, unable to get to his targets but unwilling to let it go.</p><p>Behind them, the younger policeman watched wide eyed, unsure of what to do. Thomas could not blame him; it was clear he was the low man on the totem pole.</p><p>“Key. Now,” Willas ordered, a hand outstretched.</p><p>Unable to get away or deny his guilt, the beefy policeman irritably jerked his keyring off his belt loop and all but flung it at Willas. For a moment, the two men stared at one another, sizing their opponent up. When Willas finally turned away, the policeman was still glaring at his back.</p><p>He walked over to Thomas and forced him to stand up straight so that he could unlock his handcuffs. As his wrists came away free, Thomas’ felt another pang of sensation shoot through his chest and ribcage.</p><p>Whether it was from shock or from a rush of emotion he could not say; he staggered against the table and fell against Richard’s leg to crumple upon the floor. He wanted to weep, to break down like a child and sob for all the world to hear. But he could not cry in that moment; he was too numb, unable to process that in five minutes he’d lost everything and been handed it back again.</p><p>All from the kindness of one policeman.</p><p>But hands were pulling him up. Had Thomas been in a sober state of mind, he would have been amazed to find that Carson was helping him. That Richard was letting him lean against his shoulder. But he was in as much pain as Thomas, clutching his bleeding face with both hands.</p><p>“Fuck, my face- “He moaned in distress.</p><p>“Dr. Clarkson will be able to assist,” Carson said. “I shall call for him at once.”</p><p>“Let me see- “Lord Grantham was parting the waves of terrified servants, forcing Richard to drop his hands so that he might examine his nose. It was a peculiar relationship that master and valet shared, something akin to friends if not so familiar. “Not so bad man. Not so bad. You’ll have a bump on the nose, but you’ll recover.”</p><p>“Fuckin’ hell- “Richard slurred, gingerly testing the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He glanced at Thomas, and whatever he saw caused him such concern that he dropped his hands and promptly forgot all about his broken nose.</p><p>“Hey- “He clutched Thomas by the shoulders, his bloodied fingers ruining Thomas’ shirtsleeves. “Look at me. Look at me, we’ll be okay- “</p><p>In that moment, Thomas realized he was panting, that he felt cold and clammy despite a roaring fire going in the grate nearby. He thought he might be sick at any moment. What was this from? Was it an effect of his broken ribs being tussled with, or was this something else?</p><p>“Sir, what do we do?” The youngest policeman looked to Willas for support. He’d never been put in such a situation; frankly, Thomas imagined you could go thirty years on the force and never face a situation like this.</p><p>“Mr. Barrow,” Willas was speaking to him, but he wasn’t registering it. He could hear the words, he knew what they meant, but some pivotal part of his brain was missing that allowed him to talk. “How many doors are there in and out of this abbey.”</p><p>The answer was five. There was the main door upstairs, the door to the servant’s hall, the door off Lady Grantham’s tea suite, the door out of the library that could only be opened during the summer season due to hinges, and the door to the rooftop which was only for upstairs access but still could lead to an escape if you really needed it.</p><p>When Thomas failed to answer, Carson stepped in, “Five,” he said.</p><p>“Right….” Willas was pondering for a moment, considering his options. Behind his back, the stubby policeman was scowling at him like he was scum. In the corner, O’Brien was petrified, too frightened to move lest people realize she was there. Too many eyes were on Willas; every servant was waiting to hear what he’d say. If he’d punish Thomas and Richard or let them go.</p><p>“Right…” Willas whispered, eyes narrowed. “Three of us… Vyner… Higgs. An’ Chaytor if we need him, but I’d rather let him be.”</p><p>“What about them?” The young policeman asked.</p><p>“Call them,” Willas said. “Vyner’s first cousin is different, and Higgs knows what it’s like to be ruined by a cruel society. He was on a bender several years ago and nearly took his life. Call ‘em on the telephone, an’ tell ‘em to come here right now. They’re the only two that we can trust with Barrow’s secret besides Chaytor. We’ll have to take it in shifts, rotate in and out… each of us guards a door, until Chaytor has the information that he needs to decide about O’Brien. We can’t take her in, not without proof, and I don’t trust her to run if we book her downtown. She’s got friends in those cells, and we’re already spacing them out as much as we can. But that doesn’t mean we have to let her do as she pleases up here, does it? We’ll just treat the abbey like a cell.”</p><p>“Right, that makes sense,” the young policeman mused.</p><p>At this, Willas turned to the beefy policeman.</p><p>“Briggs, you go with Lewis,” He jerked his thumb at the young one, so this must have been their names. “And don’t think I won’t ruin you if you even dare to mention a comment about Barrow or Ellis.”</p><p>Furious at being treated like a child, Briggs said, “You think Chaytor will support you on this? What, so you’ve got a room full of weak hearted fools, you think the world out there will feel the same? So, what, Vyner’s got a faggot for a cousin and Higgs nearly ended up eatin’ dirt after the war. It doesn’t mean that the courts will side with you! They need to be locked up!” He pointed an accusatory finger at Thomas and Richard, who were still hiding behind Lord Grantham and Mr. Carson. “They’re as much of a menace to society as O’Brien is! There are children in this house! They could end up assaulting them on some perverted spree! What do you think about that?!”</p><p>“How dare you?” Lord Grantham said.</p><p>“I think the world is full of unemployed men looking for a job, who’d be happy to let a moral conviction slide if it meant they got a steady paycheck,” Willas declared. “Given your penchant for picking pocketbooks, maybe you can understand the need for money. Or do you want me to explain to the chief why it was that I found his wallet in your locker.”</p><p>This, beyond everything, seemed to unnerve Briggs. Willas was more insightful than he looked.</p><p>“…I was going to give it to him, he dropped it,” was the only pale excuse he could muster.</p><p>“What, did all the cash fall out too?” Willas sneered.</p><p>When Briggs did not answer, Willas gestured to Lewis as if to say, ‘<em>Well go on’. </em></p><p>He turned to Carson.</p><p>“Sir, I’ll need your telephone,” Lewis said.</p><p>“… I’ll show you,” Carson was still in shock from the proceedings. As Lewis made to follow him, Willas called out.</p><p>“Take Briggs with you,” He reminded. “And don’t take your eyes off him!”</p><p>Lewis silently beckoned Briggs to follow. Bitter, he stormed over to where his baton had fallen and snatched it up. It was still stained from Richard’s blood and had left a mark on the floor. As he passed by Richard and Thomas, he leered, “Don’t think I’m lettin’ this go, you <em>cake eaters</em>.” And off he went.</p><p>This left only Willas to keep order. He looked to O’Brien, his gaze becoming cold and apathetic where before he’d been so full of fiery emotion. It was disturbing.</p><p>“… I’ve seen a lot on my time in the force. Ugly things I’d rather have not known. I’ve found a newborn baby in a dustbin. I watched two men beat each other to death over a hot meal, starving like dogs. I’ve even seen a mother drown her children in a washbasin just to get even with the father. But nothin’ quite beats what happened here today. You were hoping to throw this whole house into chaos. To destroy Barrow and Ellis. You were willing to utterly obliterate their lives, an ruin them. And I can’t help but wonder why? What does Barrow know that you don’t want me to know? Why are you so eager to keep him quiet, so eager to scare him to where he he’ll lie to a DSO? I was warned about your arrival when you came into town. And now that the noose is tightening, you’re panicking. Trying to get away. You’ve forced me to blackmail a colleague to keep him quiet. You weren’t expecting that, were you? For me to not arrest two homosexuals, if I was confronted with the evidence? You were banking on me caring more about upholding order, than following a lead. That was your get out of jail free card, to throw the queers and the lavenders to the dogs while you slipped out the back. Let em’ get eaten alive, like a shark goin’ after chum. Like an animal. That’s what you are… you’re a predator. You’re not a human, and you’re most certainly not a woman. You’re a disgrace to your sex.”</p><p>O’Brien said nothing, ashen in her defeat.</p><p>“Your story has more holes in it than swiss cheese. I have reports of your behavior in London. This isn’t the first time you’ve run afoul of the law. And after what I’ve seen here today, I think this was personal. You didn’t come back to this house to rebuild your life; you came back to destroy these people. To ruin Barrow, I bet. And when Coyle failed to kill him… well… I suppose you had to do the dirty work yourself. Or maybe you were just as surprised as all of us when Barrow and Moseley turned up alive. Maybe you’d been banking on Coyle being able to finish them off. Was that your plan? To leave town, now?”</p><p>Every face was turned to her, full of loathing and contempt. Lord Grantham looked disgusted; he and Bates kept swapping glances, clearly in cahoots when it came to O’Brien.</p><p>“You have no proof,” She whispered. “You have nothin on me.”</p><p>“I’m sure you’re very proud of that,” Willas said. “But I’m not giving up just because you’re good at covering your tracks. Until I have proof that you’re innocent beyond a shadow of a doubt, you’re not leaving this sodding house. You can consider yourself under house arrest until further notice.”</p><p>“You can’t just trap me where when I’ve done nothing wrong- “</p><p>“Nothing wrong?” Willas’ tone rose up in dismay. “You tried to ruin a man’s life today! Two men’s lives! You tried to destroy them!” He was shouting now, his voice bouncing off the stone walls, “An’ if I’d been less of a man myself, you might have succeeded! Unfortunately for you, I learned my lesson back in 1899 when I did just that! My wife has taught me to be a better man, to believe in the teachings in Christ. To believe in the concept of mercy! And I refuse to judge a man for something that he cannot change! That is beyond wrong, what you’ve done. That is vile, that is sickening!”</p><p> </p><p>Lewis and Briggs were back, with Carson bringing up the rear.</p><p>“Sir…” He coughed, delicate, “Vyner and Higgs are on their way, and so is Dr. Clarkson. Chaytor’s on the phone, and he wants to talk to you. He knows about Barrow and Ellis and he has some things he wants to say.”</p><p>“I’ll bloody bet he does,” Willas cursed under his breath. He turned to Carson, “Mr. Carson, get that woman in a room, and lock in there. Don’t let her leave. Do you have a place to put her?”</p><p>“Many,” Carson glowered.</p><p>“Good, stick her somewhere, I don’t care, and keep her far away from Barrow and Ellis. I don’t trust her not to try and kill them.”</p><p>He left, brushing angrily past Briggs when he refused to step aside. “You’re with me!”</p><p>“For god’s sake, I’m not a child!” Briggs complained.</p><p>“Yeah, maybe you should quit actin’ like one- “</p><p>“You’re the one being a Nancy over a pair of queers!” Their voices bounced off the hall as they left, growing more and more distant until the door to Carson’s office closed with a sharp snap.</p><p>Now it was only Lewis, who was as sheepish as the rest of them.</p><p>“M’so sorry, sir,” he said to Lord Grantham. “I don’t know what to say. I apologize for my colleague Briggs, he’s not usually like this. Some of us just aren’t empathetic to the less fortunate.”</p><p>He let out a slow, low breath, as if he’d been holding it since Briggs had put Thomas in handcuffs.</p><p>“My god…” he whispered.</p><p>“Oh, thank god,” Mrs. Hughes croaked. She placed her hands tenderly upon Thomas’ shoulders, holding him like a mother might. “Oh, thank god in heaven.”</p><p>“… and what about you?” Richard asked Lewis. “Will you tell our secret? You might be young, but people will believe you. You could make a name for yourself, cleaning up the town of queers.”</p><p>Lewis contemplated this, his baby blue eyes growing sad with reflection. “I already have a name,” he said. “My mother gave it to me, and it’s good enough for me. I won’t tell your secret, Mr. Ellis. I may not be a queer, but I know what it’s like to love someone. Kiss like that, you can’t deny it.”</p><p>Something very strange was happening inside of Thomas’ body. He’d grown hot, white hot, and his vision had fuzzed over. He could sense that he was moving but he couldn’t particularly tell in what direction or why. One minute he was up, able to stare people in the eye, the next minute he was down and looking at the floor so close it was blurry to his vision. He could hear a high-pitched ringing in his ears, like a gun shot had gone off close to his face. For a moment, he wondered if Lewis had actually taken out his pistol and shot him. He certainly felt like he’d been shot, all weak and wobbly with no way to stand.</p><p><em>I think I nearly fainted, </em>Thomas wondered mildly.</p><p>Someone was trying to help him up, was sitting him up, but the action was violent, and his inner balance had been thrown to the dogs. He heaved, once, twice- and someone had the good sense to push the ash bucket underneath his nose right as he vomited everywhere. The green bile burned his tongue; he couldn’t stop vomiting, and even after emptying his stomach of all its contents he could not stop retching. When his body finally calmed down, he was dripping in a fine layer of cold sweat, and his limbs were trembling.</p><p>There were voices around him, talking rapidly and angrily.</p><p>“Sweating all over- “Richard was saying; he was the one holding Thomas up.</p><p>“Can you blame him?!” Mrs. Hughes cried out, “You were both nearly done in, in the worst way possible! This was his worst fear, all of these years, this is what he feared more than anything else on this earth!”</p><p>The voices were turning from his person to another. Thomas couldn’t really tell who they were talking to, though from the tone he supposed it was O’Brien. He was still inches from vomiting again.</p><p>“And you! How could you? Of all the most despicable and vile things on this earth-!”</p><p>“You’re disgusting! You knew what would happen to them, and you didn’t care one bit!”</p><p>“Insane, is what she is!”</p><p>“As god as my witness I swear I’ll have your blood on my hands!”</p><p>This was met with reproach, “Phyllis- “</p><p>“Mrs. Moseley, control yourself- “</p><p>“I mean it!” Baxter barked. “And if you think I won’t tell her ladyship what you’ve done, you’re sadly mistaken!”</p><p>But Lord Grantham had had enough. After witnessing the exhausting debacle, his limits of peasantry rabble had come to an end.</p><p>“Mrs. Moseley, I will be the one to tell her,” He said with a tad bit of disapproval. “O’Brien, you are to return upstairs to your quarters, and remain there. What you have done here today is unforgivable, and if it were not for the police order, I would remove you from this house myself.” He turned to his aged butler, “Carson, take her to her room and make sure that she does not leave it.”</p><p>From his pocket, Carson withdrew an ancient ring of keys that Thomas carried around during his daily shifts. Its presence was ominous.</p><p>“At once, M’lord,” he said.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Thomas was an absolute wreck as Richard and Baxter helped him up the stairs. Carson locked O’Brien in her chambers and would say no more on the subject until Dr. Clarkson arrived. Richard and Baxter helped Thomas to lay down in bed, where he collapsed in a sweaty convulsing mess. Most distressing of all, there were sporadic moments when Thomas would burst into tears that were beyond what a normally somber situation required. It was almost on the verge of screaming, like he thought he was still being attacked or that the police were coming back. As it was, they stayed resolutely at the doors of Downton and did not venture inside. Perhaps they understand that after the incident earlier that day, no one was eager to be in their company again.</p><p>Dr. Clarkson came up with Officer Higgs and Inspector Vyner. Vyner was perhaps the most concerned, and Richard could hear him arguing with Briggs from inside the servant’s hall. They were screaming at each other, swapping vicious barbs as Vyner defended them while Briggs announced they would be frying in hell either way. Higgs was a quiet and sheepish counterpart to this display, and merely stood at the door like Willas told him to without retort or comment. Poor Lewis, the youngest of all of them, was absorbing the chaos like a sponge.</p><p>None of these interactions, however, fazed Dr. Clarkson. He was above and beyond the policemen’s quarrels, and instead had eyes only for Thomas in that moment. He seemed panicked somehow; whatever Carson had said to him on the phone, it had been enough to make him drop everything at the hospital and come.</p><p>He barricaded the door to Thomas’ room, forcing Richard to stand outside in the hallway. For a moment or two, one could hear only Thomas screaming, hysterical. Then…. Silence.</p><p>Unnerving, hollow silence.</p><p>Outside the door to Thomas’ room, Richard stood with Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson, both of whom were nervous for the results of the examination. On his nose, Richard now wore a small, tapered bandage. He had a piece of ice in hand, wrapped in a tea towel that Mrs. Patmore had graciously loaned him.</p><p>It was a small comfort, in lieu of everything.</p><p>“Why is it so quiet?” He wondered.</p><p>“I’m sure he’s calmed him down,” Mrs. Hughes comforted him.</p><p>Carson said nothing, still ashen from the day’s proceedings. Everything was hitting him at different levels, it seemed; he was almost ready to go down for a nap himself.</p><p>When the door to Thomas’ room opened, the sound was unnervingly loud. Out came Dr. Clarkson, toting his large black bag, and looking very bitter indeed. He shut the door with a sharp snap, leaving Thomas entombed beyond.</p><p> </p><p>“How is he?” Richard asked at once.</p><p>“Resting. I gave him a sedative,” Dr. Clarkson paused, a little embarrassed. It was difficult to say whether or not he’d known that Thomas was a homosexual before today. Maybe like Mrs. Hughes, he’d known and simply had not enjoyed it being discussed in public. There could be no avoiding it now, it seemed.</p><p>“Is he alright? He was screaming like he was being murdered.” Mrs. Hughes’ hand dithered upon her breastbone and neck; she chewed at the corner of her thin lip. Though Thomas was resting, she still spoke softly as if she thought he might be able to hear her through the door.</p><p>Dr. Clarkson’s face went through a rapid flutter of changes which seemed to mimic the phrase <em>‘What do you think?’. </em></p><p> </p><p>“He had a mental breakdown from the strain,” He whispered back. Now they all were talking like Thomas was right over their shoulder. “It caused him to react physically like he was suffering from the flue. It happens when people are under extreme stress. As for the screaming, I’ve seen it before in men who came back from the war with shell shock. I think it was something similar, but I can’t say. I’m still in the dark, myself. I suggest for the next couple of days, let him be. Given what he’s done in the past… well… I’d suggest caution.” And at this, he tapped his wrist in clear indication of his suicide attempt. “If ever he were going to do it again, it would probably be now.”</p><p>“I suppose we’ll have to take shifts again,” Carson raked a hand through his thinning hair in dismay.</p><p>“No,” Richard shook his head. Unlike the others, he refused to whisper. “I’ll handle this myself. I’ll stay with him. Lord Grantham will want Bates to tend to him, now, anyway. Not with my face banged up.”</p><p>“He’ll appreciate that,” Dr. Clarkson agreed, cutting off whatever dismissal Carson had been about to offer. “He needs you more than anyone else, I suppose… though I won’t pretend to understand or approve.”</p><p>“There’s a policeman outside who’d agree with you,” was Richard’s stony reply. Dr. Clarkson winced, seeming to realize how unnecessarily insensitive his barb had been. Richard stepped around the doctor, making to head inside.</p><p>“Mr. Ellis, let me examine your nose,” Dr. Clarkson said.</p><p>“M’fine,” he didn’t want to be away from Thomas any longer than necessary. “I’ve been seen to.”</p><p>But even as he opened the door, he felt a heavy hand upon his shoulder. Carson was trying to stop him from going inside.</p><p>“Mr. Ellis, I- “he looked pointedly uncomfortable, but Richard was past the point of caring.</p><p>“After <em>everything </em>we’ve endured today, can you not give us a few moments in peace? Our lives were nearly destroyed today. He’s a wreck. I’m a wreck. For god’s sake, have some pity.”</p><p>He slowly curled his fingers back, hand slipping from Richard’s shoulder to fall heavily at his side.</p><p>Without another word to any of them, Richard slipped inside and shut the door.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It was a dark and somber moment, to lay beside Thomas. He did not sleep in a normal state; there was something catatonic about the way his limbs had no life. Tears dried upon his sharp cheekbones till Richard wiped away their remains. In the cool and quiet of his room, with curtains drawn and none daring to approach, Richard whispered in his ear to comfort him in dreams.</p><p> </p><p>“I will take you from this place,” he swore. “I will take you somewhere safe, and we shall never be parted.”</p><p>Thomas had no reply to this.</p><p> </p><p>For a while, Richard simply lay beside his love, wondering at what would happen next. He liked to believe that Willas could hold Griggs down, but something in the pit of his stomach was gnawing at him with anxiety. If Griggs slipped up just once, it was over for the pair of them. In that moment, he knew that they needed to get out of Downton, that they could not stay in this town if Griggs was still drawing breath.</p><p>Maybe he’d drop dead of a heart attack, but until that fateful day Richard and Thomas had bullseyes painted on their backs.</p><p> </p><p>A gentle knock at the door made him bristle. He sat up in bed, swinging his legs over and walking over to the door to open it just a slit. Beyond, he found Baxter.</p><p>He opened the door fully, lips pursed in dismay; for a moment, the pair of them simply stared at one another, unsure of what to say. Then, Richard allowed Baxter passage into their cocoon. Thomas’ eyes were open, but he was listless, not fully in the world of the living.</p><p>“Thomas?” She crouched over, carefully tucking a lock of peppered hair out of his ashen face. “Can you hear me?”</p><p>When he did not answer, she stood back up and walked over to his dresser where a pitcher of water and a wash basin kept company with an ancient rag. She wetted it and laid it upon his forehead.</p><p>“It’s time for supper,” Baxter explained. “Mrs. Hughes sent me up to see if you could manage to stomach something. But I don’t think he could eat…”</p><p>“No, not tonight,” he agreed. His stomach growled in retort. “Me on the other hand…”</p><p>“Why don’t you go downstairs and have something to eat,” she offered. “We haven’t fed Christopher either, you could bring him a plate.”</p><p>But going downstairs meant running into everyone that had seen them kiss today, that had seen them nearly be arrested. As much as he’d like to bring a plate up, he owed it to Christopher to tell him what had occurred today, and perhaps to even get his advice regarding Briggs.</p><p>If anyone in this house understood what it was to fear the police, it was him.</p><p>“Stay with him?” he asked, heading for the door.</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p> </p><p>Downstairs Richard went, feeling the bitterness within him rise to a blistering level. He passed no one on the stairs, but when he made it to the bottom, he was greeted by the unnerving sight of everyone clustered around the servant’s table. They were whispering, heads bent, and when they saw him at the bottom of the stairs they paused.</p><p>Bates stood up, looking like he wanted to say something. Richard pointedly avoided him, walking into the kitchen where Daisy was serving shepherds pie onto plates. She gave a start when she noticed Richard in the door.</p><p>“Mr. Ellis!” She washed and wiped her hands on her apron. “How are you?”</p><p>“I need food for me and the guest,” Richard said. “Thomas isn’t going to eat tonight.”</p><p>“O’course,” And she piled up two plates at once. She was timid, but not afraid to ask the difficult questions which was a mark of her hard character.</p><p>“I’m ever so sorry,” She said. “Truly- “</p><p>But even as she handed Richard the two plates, he left. He couldn’t stand the idea of these people—these normal, unbothered people—giving him their opinions on something they simply didn’t understand. Richard didn’t want to talk to a straight person tonight, he wanted to talk to a gay man who knew what it meant to suffer.</p><p>Fortunately, he had one at his disposal.</p><p>Balancing both plates on his left arm, Richard opened the door to the basement and entered, shutting and locking it carefully behind him.</p><p>He descended, plates in hand, but found the basement unnervingly empty. He listened intently for sounds of their favorite guest plundering away in the back but heard nothing.</p><p>“Chris….” Richard looked left, then right, but found no one. “Christopher, it’s me. Do you want food or not?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Drawled an unnervingly close voice. “Do I?”</p><p>There was no where else to look but up, and so Richard did. Above his head, in a network of ancient pipes that sent water to the house, Christopher Webster lay curled like a cat. It was a bizarre sight, and one that momentarily gave Richard pause.</p><p>“How’d you get up there?” He couldn’t even summon a dash of annoyance.</p><p>“Same way you can,” Christopher jerked a thumb over to the ancient wine shelves which stretched to the ceiling. “I climbed up the shelves.”</p><p>He swung down, knees curled about a massive pipe, and then flipped backward in an impressive gymnastics’ feat. He made an expression as if to say ‘tada’. Intrigued by the shepherd’s pie that Richard had brought, Chris snatched it up and began to eat with his hands.</p><p>“And where is my darling sugar dumpling?” Chris asked, his mouth full of lamb. As he sucked on his fingers, he added, “Or are you hiding him from me? Rather un-sportsman of you.”</p><p>When Richard didn’t rise to the bait, or even look annoyed, Christopher began to pause. He slowly sucked at his finger, eyes narrowing, then set down his now clean plate.</p><p>“…You alright?” Chris asked. “He’s not dumped you, has he?”</p><p>He didn’t know why his tongue was tied; if anyone in the house would understand what they went through today, it would be Christopher. But… well…</p><p>He sat down upon the stairs and struck up a cigarette.</p><p>“How did it happen?” He asked, “When the truth came out in the wash and you lost everything… was it all in one big rush? Was one second normal and the other not?”</p><p>Perturbed, Chris sat down next to him. “Well, I got caught with a neighborhood boy,” He explained. “Hard to explain yourself when you’ve got your prick buried in another’s mouth, but my father an’ I had butted heads long before then so I wouldn’t say it was one second normal and the other not. More of a gradual decline. But why should that matter to you? Or are we tender with each other now that….” He trailed off, then pointed at the mark on Richard’s nose from where Grigg’s baton had clubbed him.</p><p>“Hey, what happened to your nose?” He wondered. “I don’t recall smacking it.”</p><p>“I got hit in the face with a copper’s baton,” Richard said.</p><p>Christopher went white. He staggered up from the stairs, his breathing becoming erratic. “Where’s Thomas?” He asked. When Richard did not immediately respond, he began to make his way up the stairs. As he passed, Richard grabbed him by the hand and forced him to stay.</p><p>“Sleepin’,” He said.</p><p>“Sleeping at ten?”</p><p>“He’s been sleeping since five,” Richard corrected irritably. “I’m amazed you didn’t hear it.”</p><p>He took a step down, then another, and finally returned to his seat on the stairs next to Richard. He was disturbed. “Hear what?” he asked. “What the hell happened at five today?”</p><p>“The police came to take O’Brien in for questioning,” Richard explained. “She pulled her darkest card and revealed to them that we were lovers. That we were faggots.”</p><p>For a moment they sat in silence. Gay men understood one another well in this regard. There was no one on earth could feel the same way, save for perhaps gay women (but Richard had never met one and didn’t even know if they existed). When he silently reached for Richard’s cigarette, it was handed over without comment. He smoked, thinking, then passed it back.</p><p>“How many policemen?” Christopher asked.</p><p>“Does it matter?”</p><p>“I can manage one or two, but more than five an’ I’m gonna need help.”</p><p>“It’s alright,” Richard said. When Christopher did not seem to believe him, he added, “One of the policemen, a Sergeant Willas, he saved us. Forced the other two not to say a word. There was one, this fellow named Briggs. He had Thomas in handcuffs before I could blink. I tried to stop him- “He gestured to his marked face, “He was gonna fuckin’ club my head in, but Willas managed to grab the baton right out of his hand before he hit me and shoved him to the wall.”</p><p>He did a double take, amazed.</p><p>“Willas threatened Briggs with blackmail to keep him quiet. The other one seemed more reasonable, more open to suggestion. But Briggs… he was ready for blood. He might squeal at some point, but it’s out of my hands now. I have to trust Willas, or at least his blackmail. They know they can’t touch O’Brien just yet; they don’t technically have any evidence against her. But they’ve put her under house arrest so she can’t leave the abbey… can’t even use the phone, they said. Briggs, he’s roped into it now. Willas has a policeman at every door just in case she tries to slip through. One of them is him… so he’s up there somewhere. But I’m telling you when it happened? All the others just watched it, didn’t say a goddamn thing in our defense. They were going to let us swing.”</p><p>“Eh… that’s the way they are,” he wasn’t surprised. “They don’t know us, or how we work.” They were repeatedly passing the cigarette back and forth now, a common ground between two men who’d once been mortal enemies. “So, how’s our sugar?”</p><p>“Doctor gave him a sedative,” Richard said. “I’ve been with him all evening, making sure he was sleeping well. He’s shaken up really bad, thinks our lives are over. Thinks Briggs is going to spill. Even if Willas has him held to a wire. You really didn’t hear <em>anything?” </em>he was amazed.</p><p>“I’ve been exploring this house from top to bottom,” Christopher said. “There’s a cavity in the far back- “He pointed to a long wall full of wine shelves. “And I dug through a soft spot to come out on boarded up tunnels. They go in every direction. I’ve been following them for miles.”</p><p> </p><p>“Really?” He was amazed. “Show me.”</p><p> </p><p>They pair of them left the steps and headed to the far back of the cellar where an old wine rack stood with dozens of dusty bottles. This was the fine champagne, the things that normally weren’t touched save for special occasions. Christopher tapped the area where the back of the rack met the wall, and he was surprised to see what looked like a hinge.</p><p>“A false door?” He wondered.</p><p>“Exactly.” Christopher opened it, and it revealed beyond a narrow chamber that held several wine bottles in the dark. Here, a lone candle was lit, proof of his wanderings.</p><p>“What the hell is this?” He asked.</p><p>“Seems like the good shit,” Chris grinned. “Looks like your butler’s been holding out on you.”</p><p>“Thomas never mentioned this.”</p><p>“Well then, maybe it’s that lug Carson’s idea. I dunno. Some of these bottles are incredibly old.” They went to the back of the room, and sure enough a weak spot in the wall had been dug through to create a gap. It took a bit of work, but Richard followed in, and on the other side he came into what could only be described as a monastery hall. Chris held his candle up to show a vaulted ceiling ten feet above them, criss crossed with ancient marble. It looked like something that might have been used in the times of the abbey’s founding and was more akin to the architecture upstairs than down.</p><p>“… What is this place…?” He wondered. How he wished he could show Thomas!</p><p>“Follow me,” Chris said. The pair of them walked left and followed along the tunnel until it bottomed out into an enormous room! Ancient, tiled floors covered in dust were laid at their feet, and pillars as thick as a fully grown man stood every so often, holding up the ceiling. Was this a tomb? A treasure trove? If he listened intently, he thought he could hear running water. Where was it coming from?</p><p>“I’ve been going all around this room,” Chris said. “S’why I couldn’t hear what happened today. A lot of these tunnels branch off into nowhere, a few are caved in… One takes you to an old sewer tunnel that the romans probably used. I’m still exploring them; they might come in use one day.”</p><p>“Maybe,” he mused. But there was a thick molding smell in the air, and it boded ill. “Come on let’s get back to civilization. I can smell mold.”</p><p>“Smell it? I’ve been sleeping in it.”</p><p>They made their way back, and as they crawled into the wine cellar; Richard felt like he’d skipped forward in history another four hundred years. They exited back into the main cellar, with Christopher shutting the trap door behind them. The air was much sweeter here, much fresher, and he took great lungful’s of it with pleasure.</p><p>“The others won’t believe that,” he wondered. Imagine, all these treasures not even a few feet from their dining table!</p><p>“So, when are you lot going to kill the bitch?” Chris asked.</p><p>“Tomorrow night,” he said. “We were going to send Albert out for the poison today, but you saw how that went.”</p><p>“Alright,” Chris rubbed at the tip of his nose where he might have had an itch. “Don’t worry about Briggs tonight, just try to get some sleep.”</p><p>“What are you going to do?” He asked. His answer came with Christopher meandering back to the hidden grotto; his lazy, cat-like graces made Richard feel oddly at peace after a truly terrible afternoon.</p><p>“What I have to do.” He explained. He looked back around at Richard with a coy grin. “Some people are born t’do the hard jobs, Richard. Some people are born to be hated.”</p><p>So, it seemed that Christopher was, once again, going to undertake the sin of killing a policeman. But even if Griggs knew their secret, and would probably end up telling, it still put a knot of guilt in his stomach. He didn’t want Chris to feel that he <em>had </em>to protect them just because he was gay too. He was already in enough trouble as it stood.</p><p>“Chris, you don’t have to,” he urged.</p><p>“I do,” Chris corrected him, patiently, “Just like you have to kill O’Brien. Because if Griggs gets the chance, he’ll destroy another one of us, an’ he won’t lose a wink of fuckin’ sleep at night. So, who’s the real monster here, eh? That’s what I want to know.”</p><p>He tapped the very tip of his nose, mischievous, and turned away to hide back into the confines of the cellar. Like a mist, thinning out with the coming of the sun, Christopher vanished with no set route to show. He left, in his midst, a once-enemy pondering the state of affairs between them.</p><p>There was a time when he’d loathed the idea of Chris and had even wished him gone. But now, in the hour of need, here he was comforting Richard like they hadn’t been squabbling for the past several months. Maybe it was because he was gay. Maybe it was because he too was in love with Thomas. Or maybe (just maybe) it was because Christopher wasn’t half as bad a person as Richard had initially made him out to be.</p><p>And there was a great deal of wisdom to be learned in that.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Six Minutes to Midnight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The end finally comes for O'Brien, and sets into motion a series of events that'll shake up the whole abbey.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Due to the violent nature of this chapter, I won't hide tags at the end. This chapter will include graphic depictions of murder by poisoning. We've been building up tot his for a bit now so... here it is. At this point we're moving into the next phase of this story, and it's going to get progressively more violent and but also more sexy. Because  I enjoy having fun with these characters.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He awoke suddenly and yet in a slow stream. He could tell that he was awake but was more content to simply lay there. In that small moment of time, untouched by the hand of another and un-tempted by the evils of the world, Thomas Nathaniel Barrow was completely at peace. He did not remember what had happened yesterday. He did not recall how he’d gone to bed. Instead, he simply knew that he was whole and safe… and it filled him with such contentment that he passed back into sleep once or twice. But he didn’t stay there long; his brain was slowly beginning to come to life, and with it came the trickle of memories and voices.</p><p>The terror and the shame… the overwhelming panic followed by absolute misery.</p><p>He opened his aching eyes.</p><p>Above him was a familiar ceiling, cracked and chipped from age. It was his own, not that of a jail cell, and it still shocked him that he’d not been arrested yesterday. All for the sake of one man… Willas.</p><p>He sat up, head groggy and spinning from the effort. He felt drugged and could have sworn that Dr. Clarkson had visited him last night. But it was all such a blur that he didn’t know how to let one event slide into another.</p><p>That was when he noticed a pair of legs next to him. He turned and marveled at the sight of Richard in bed with him. How had he slept here and not alerted the others? He was still in his day clothes, his nose black and swollen at the bridge. He seemed to have gone to bed half sitting up, with a few of his own pillows propped beneath his back. The glass of water and the book on the nightstand beside him were telling; it seemed that he’d cared for Thomas through the night.</p><p> </p><p>Then it fully came back to him, how he’d suffered a nervous breakdown. How Clarkson had come to him as if through a fevered haze and had given him some sort of sedative. It seemed to have done the trick, but at the cost of Thomas now being in a groggy state.</p><p>He rolled out of bed and staggered to his dresser, where a standing mirror offered him a view of a pale and waning face.</p><p>He could hardly recognize it for his own.</p><p>He, like Richard, had slept in his day clothes. They were now rumpled and stained, in no fit to be seen by the others. His hair, which was normally washed each night to remove the sheen of brilliantine, was now an absolute mess with stems going in every other direction.</p><p>With shaky hands, he picked up his comb and began to try and sort his hair.</p><p>Yet even as he pulled and tugged, Thomas could not help but lament his circumstances.</p><p>For years, he’d done his hardest to detach himself from the rest of the house. To always have back ups and blackmail in the event that someone dared to try and rat him out to the police. And yet in spite of all this ugliness, his secret had still come to light and he’d still been nearly arrested. It didn’t matter if Willas had kept him out of jail. Griggs knew, and eventually he would run his mouth to someone Thomas was certain. What was worse, everyone in the house that he’d ever considered a friend, or an ally had witnessed his shame.</p><p>Baxter had seen it.</p><p>Mrs. Hughes had seen it.</p><p><em>Bates </em>had seen it.</p><p>And worst of all (<em>oh, </em>worst of <em>all) </em>… Carson had seen it.</p><p> </p><p>And it was this he couldn’t stand.</p><p>He began to weep, unable to stop himself, and buried his head in his hands. He thought endlessly of what Carson would say when they spoke again; he wouldn’t be able to hide in the attic forever.</p><p> </p><p>He felt hands upon his shoulders; a nose pressing into the crook of his neck. Soft, sweet lips kissing him, letting him know that Richard was nearby.</p><p>“Why can’t they let us be?” He moaned, his voice pathetic and small.</p><p>“Cause they’re fuckin’ evil,” Richard whispered in his ear, holding him tight.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It was a difficult process, to bathe and re-dress himself when he still felt a little groggy. The hour was late, nine in the morning, and a clear sign that neither of them were expected to attend to the family today. Thomas had very little desire to go downstairs (if any at all) but Richard was adamant about facing the music. In his eyes, he’d done nothing wrong, and frankly wanted a piece of O’Brien. But Thomas didn’t want to see anyone and feared what might happen if they ran into a policeman again. What if Griggs was waiting downstairs, and the moment they re-appeared they’d be arrested.</p><p> </p><p>But Richard consoled him, whispering sweet nothings in his ear even as he dressed in slacks and shirtsleeves.</p><p>“We’ll face it together,” He promised. “I told you when we first met. Men like us must stick together. Did you think I’d come this far to abandon you to the wolves?”</p><p> </p><p>They went downstairs together, neither in a rush. It was growing close to the hour for a tea break and normally you’d find the maids on the stairs gossiping. Today, however, there wasn’t a maid about which was a little disturbing. As they reached the bottom, Thomas found himself growing physically ill from anxiety. Every second, he feared that Grigg’s meaty face would appear around the corner. Richard, however, was more austere. He took Thomas by the arm and steered him determinedly into the servant’s hall where the staff were clustered around the table sharing a communal pot of tea and a plate of biscuits. There were no maids here either; only Albert the hall boy remained from the day crew. He was pensive, cautiously crumbling his biscuit, and when he spotted Thomas in the doorway, he looked stricken. It was like he wanted to say something but had no courage to do so.</p><p>Bates was there, head bent with his wife whispering about something. They fell silent as they too spotted Thomas and Richard.</p><p>And while it was damning to note that Baxter, Moseley, Mrs. Hughes, and Andy were all silent, it was Carson who Thomas sought out first. Carson, who had spotted them from the moment they’d come down the stairs.</p><p>Carson, who watched them with knowing eyes, particularly lingering on the way that Richard held Thomas’ arm. Thomas jerked himself away, burned. But even at this, Carson did not stop staring; it took Thomas a moment to realize that he hadn’t been eyeing the way Richard held him but had instead simply been watching him.</p><p>Why did that make his eyes water?</p><p>The atmosphere was quiet, and tense in a way that Thomas had never known. Instead of anger, people seemed to feel sorry for him. Richard pulled out the chair opposite Bates, where Mrs. Hughes would normally sit. Thomas was surprised to find that Richard had pulled the seat out for him; he gestured silently for Thomas to sit, so he did. Then, and only then, did Richard sit beside him. It was the most intimate gesture they’d ever shared in public before.</p><p>For a moment, no one spoke; it was a communal effort to continue eating, to meekly sip their tea and pretend that nothing was wrong. But when it seemed that the silence would go on forever, Albert rose up and came trotting down the table. He plopped a brown paper bag down in front of Thomas, expectantly.</p><p>He looked up, unsure. Albert chewed upon his bottom lip, nervous. “Here you are, Mr. Barrow.”</p><p>Unsure of what could be inside, Thomas took the bag and opened it only to find an amber bottle with a cork stopper; a pink paper label on the front proudly read:</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>POISON</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>No. 3 </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>ARSENIC TRIOXIDE </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>(Arsenous Acid) </strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong> R. Warner &amp; Co. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Incorporated</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Manufacturing Pharmaceutics</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Laboratories </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York   London   Paris</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>It was the poison he’d ordered the day before, right before everything had gone to hell.</p><p> </p><p>Yet even as Thomas came to terms with the fact that he was staring at the poison which they would inevitably use to kill O’Brien, Albert likewise plopped another bag upon the table. This one, however, was thin and made of waxy white paper. Inside were several long sticks of Blackpool rock, colored in scarlet and navy for Downton’s crest.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s this?” He asked, perplexed.</p><p> </p><p>“I got it for you,” Albert said. But this was ridiculous. Albert hardly made fifteen pounds a year, and candy like this was far out of his price range.</p><p> </p><p>“Why did you do that?” he wondered. “Albert, this is expensive, you shouldn’t have paid for something like this-“</p><p> </p><p>But instead of accepting any money back, Albert said something remarkable far beyond his fifteen years. “You deserved somethin’ nice after yesterday. Not everyone hates you for being different.”</p><p> </p><p>He thought he might cry.</p><p> </p><p>He was touched, deeply, to know that Albert had thought to buy him candy. It was something so simple, so childish. He’d never think of buying candy for himself outside of a box of raspberry biscuits (if that even counted as candy). But this little spark of joy, this tiny rush of sugar, was something that could momentarily help him forget the fact that yesterday had been so bad. It was comfort, pure and simple.</p><p> </p><p>“thank you, Albert,” Richard said. “That’s truly kind of you.”</p><p> </p><p>To keep from crying, Thomas played with his bottom lip and fiddled with the waxy white slip simultaneously. He coughed, his voice tight in his throat. “If you’re trying to get your half day earlier-“</p><p> </p><p>“Nope,” Albert shook his head.</p><p>“Well, you have succeeded,” Thomas said. “Go on… have your day off.”</p><p> </p><p>But instead of taking this holiday and running with it, Albert once again proved himself quite mature. He smiled, shook his head, and said. “Nope. I’m okay.”</p><p>And with this, he turned and walked away up the stairs.</p><p> </p><p>In his wake, he left a table of impressed adults.</p><p> </p><p>“Good boy, that one,” Richard mused.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll make sure the pay goes back into his stub,” Thomas mused aloud. “He can’t afford to buy me candy like this. This is too expensive to just be bought on a whim.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, go on,” Richard gently nudged him. “Have a bite.”</p><p> </p><p>“It is ten in the morning,” he grumbled, unimpressed. Still, he pocketed the waxy bag, along with the arsenic.</p><p> </p><p>Conversation slowly resumed around them. Baxter even poured them a cup of tea, a silent gesture of friendship and solidarity.</p><p> </p><p>Everyone at this table now knew the full truth… and see how they didn’t mock him? How they simply let him sit and drink tea with Richard by his side. Was this what it felt like? To be normal… the happy couple with everyone so pleased?</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“I hope you’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” Carson began, his voice in a deep grumble. Thomas looked up from his undrunk teacup. “About his Lordship’s issue?”</p><p> </p><p>God, he’d not even thought about that for a wink.</p><p> </p><p>It made it all the worse, to know that Albert had been so sweet as to give him candy, and now his job was under fire? What was he going to do to come up with more money?</p><p> </p><p>“Not yet,” Thomas admitted.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, you gave your word you would,” Carson reminded him. “So I suggest you start giving it a good hashing over-“</p><p> </p><p>“He’ll do it when he’s good and ready. Give him a day or two to get back to normal,” Richard cut in. There was a tense, protective edge that no one could deny… and now everyone would know why. They’d know that Richard was trying to keep him safe as a lover might, not as a friend.</p><p> </p><p>Carson was not pleased but, he wasn’t furious. He seemed almost annoyed, and yet it had nothing to do with the fact that they were lovers. It was more to do with the fact that Richard had dared to interrupt him.</p><p> </p><p>Thomas made to pick up his teacup.</p><p> </p><p>His hand rattled wildly, so that he almost dropped it and had to abort the mission at last second. It clattered noisily back to the table, sloshing tea over the cracked sides. It was like all the strength had left his fingers—but why? Why on earth had he been unable to pick up a simple cup of tea?</p><p> </p><p>But it was a catalyst, and suddenly his breath was catching in his throat. He’d been given a sedative, and everyone knew about it. Everyone had seen him nearly get arrested, had seen him vomit into an ash bucket and wail for his lover like a child. Everyone at this table had been witness to his undoing, to his worst nightmare—</p><p> </p><p>He could not take it.</p><p> </p><p>In shame, he fled the table, seeking refuge in the quickest place that he could: his office.</p><p> </p><p>He left behind him an upset table. Richard tried to go after him, only to be stopped at last second by Carson who threw out a meaty hand.</p><p> </p><p>“What-“</p><p> </p><p>“Let me,” Carson said. He rose from his chair, groaning a bit at the shift on his ancient knees.</p><p> </p><p>“Mr. Carson,” Mrs. Hughes protested, eager to keep the peace any where that she could.</p><p> </p><p>“Let me handle this,” he said, reminding them in with his tone that he was, in fact, still in charge. He was stern, warning the others with a well-placed glare. AS he left after Thomas, Richard dragged a hand heavily over his face and crumpled back into his chair.</p><p> </p><p>“Mr. Ellis…” Mrs. Hughes murmured. He glowered at her across the table. “He will handle it, do not worry. Have your biscuits and tea. Try and eat something.”</p><p> </p><p>Like a petulant child, he crumbled a biscuit between his fingers. Down the hall, he heard a door open and close.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>In his office, Thomas was on the verge of keening, not outright crying so much as he was seizing. He sucked in one rattling breath after another, cheeks moist with shame and heat. He wiped viciously at his eyes, even as he heard the door open. Expecting Richard, he looked over his shoulder only to be alarmed by the sight of Carson.</p><p> </p><p>Furious at having been caught out crying by a man whom he viewed as a father, Thomas fled the office to seek refuge in yet a smaller compartment: the silver pantry. He closed and locked the door even as Carson walked over, effectively shoving a barrier between them that the other man could not budge.</p><p> </p><p>Amid the treasure hoard, Thomas was able to let his tears show freely. Here, only the silver bore witness to his sorrow, offering him back a dozen sparkling reflections of his grubby, damp face.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Thomas… Open the door.” </em>
</p><p>It was not the command of an angry man, nor an irritable boss. Instead, it was something new to him, something wholly foreign that he’d never heard before.</p><p> </p><p><em>“Thomas the fault was not yours. You…” </em>he was searching for the right thing to say like so many other times before. But this time, somehow, he found the mark. <em>“ You did not do anything to warrant that. Please open the door.” </em></p><p> </p><p>And still Thomas did not.</p><p>He just wanted to sit here for a while, to see what Carson would do if he didn’t do exactly as he commanded. Would he get angry? Or would he continue to say nice things?</p><p> </p><p><em>“I shouldn’t have let you or Richard leave the office,” </em>Carson continued on. <em>“I should have locked you inside. Or put you in the basement, or… snuck you out the back door. I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. I suppose I didn’t actually believe that she’d go through with it. What was foolish on my part….” </em></p><p> </p><p>Now ought to be the time to open the door. To meet the man in the middle. He’d been more than fair; he’d been kind even. But, still, Thomas needed a moment to compose himself. To let his tears dry on his face.</p><p> </p><p>And then something amazing happened. Something soft and lovely. Carson began to speak to him like he might to a child. To his own son, even.</p><p> </p><p><em>“Thomas… </em>“ he did not speak his name with any type of formality. <em>“Sharp eyed… sharp minded… sharp, sharp, sharp,” </em>and suddenly he was listening on tenterhooks. He needed to know more. He needed to soak all of it in. He even pressed his ear a bit to the door. <em>“Don’t tell me you’re going to let someone like O’Brien blunt you?” </em></p><p> </p><p>And even so he continued on. <em>“Was that the best she could do?” </em>he wondered. <em>“Seemed to be a little shaky to me. I think she’s losing her touch. Won’t you open the door and tell me about it?” </em></p><p> </p><p>And it was the fact that Carson was not speaking to him as a butler. That he was instead speaking to him as a son…</p><p> </p><p>Slowly, Thomas unlocked the door and let it swing gently open. It revealed Carson on the other side, opposite to Thomas. It seemed he’d been leaning against the frame too. They stared at one another as if seeing each other wholly for the first time.</p><p> </p><p>“Losing my touch,” he whispered. “Can’t even hold a fucking cup of coffee anymore.”</p><p> </p><p>“I was the same way after I received a sedative,” Carson assured him. “It’ll wear off. Coffee will help.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t like being sedated like that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Neither do I,” Carson agreed. “But you needed it, and so did I.”</p><p> </p><p>The idea of Carson needing a sedative was mildly amusing but also alarming. “Why did you need it?” Perhaps a spoon had been out of place during dinner.</p><p> </p><p>But instead of saying something nonchalant, Carson grew pained and pensive. When he finally did speak, Thomas instantly felt like a prat.</p><p> </p><p>“Because I thought you were dead,” Carson said.</p><p> </p><p>The idea that he’d been so upset over the idea that Thomas had died was like a slap in the face.</p><p> </p><p>“Did it really shake you up so much?” He tried not to sound too ashamed, but it wasn’t easy. Carson’s normally saggy and pouchy face was even more deflated than usual.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes… it did.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why?”</p><p> </p><p>He was a petulant child for asking. He ought to let the man be. But it was insanely important to Thomas in that moment that he understand why his death had shaken Carson up. It was unnervingly close to Mr. Mason’s dying advice, and it reminded him of that awful night when for the first time in decades Thomas had received a parent’s love.</p><p> </p><p>Carson took a moment to gather himself, and Thomas allowed him. The more time he had to think, the better his own advice would be.</p><p> </p><p>“We have unfinished business, you and I.” Carson said. That was an odd way of saying they had a love-hate relationship. “You always think that you have tomorrow. And I thought, on that night, that we would never have a chance to have our say.” He folded his arms over his barrel chest, musing. “It’s hard for me, Thomas. I’m from a different generation long since passed. We didn’t speak about our feelings back then; it just wasn’t done. It wasn’t considered proper. If I’d dared to speak of my need for my father’s support or love, I would have been walloped with a belt. But I always knew that I had his support deep down. It took a long time for me to be at peace with it but now, as an adult, it doesn’t bother me anymore. Do you understand?”</p><p> </p><p>But Thomas was a novice on the subject of fatherly love. He’d never had it and couldn’t point it out in a crowd if asked.</p><p> </p><p>“No, I don’t,” He confessed. Carson frowned. “I’ve never had it. I don’t know what it feels like to be cared for by a father figure. So… I suppose I don’t understand.”</p><p> </p><p>“So you see my point,” He rumbled.</p><p> </p><p>The door opened to reveal Mrs. Hughes. She wasn’t surprised to find them chatting in the corner; a saddened glimmer in her eyes, however, boded ill.</p><p> </p><p>“Mr. Carson, his Lordship wanted to speak with you regarding the other night,” Mrs. Hughes said. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right,” he too was displeased. It was the first time in living memory that Carson had been unwilling to depart from his company. Perplexed, Thomas watched the man go; he paused at the door.</p><p> </p><p>“Stay down here, today,” Mr. Carson advised. “I’ll handle things. Don’t worry about being on duty. I’ve had Mr. Bates step back in for the next couple of days while Mr. Ellis’ face heals, and I’ve spoken to Sergeant Willas about keeping Officer Griggs from coming in the house. You’re perfectly safe down here. Try to regain your strength, today… stay in our office if you wish.”</p><p> </p><p>And with that he was gone.</p><p> </p><p>Alone again in the office, Thomas timidly wiped at his damp cheeks and wondered at the fleeting tremble in his fingertips.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The morning concluded without issue. Whatever Lord Grantham had wanted to say to Mr. Carson, he’d not felt it necessary to involve the specific parties. This was just fine by Thomas; he wanted nothing to do with the subject of his deepest shame. Sitting in his office (or perhaps now he should just call it ‘their’ office), he found himself staring entranced at the bottle of arsenic. It was so small so… pretty, in fact. The glass was thick and slightly orange when you held it up to natural light. He could see the liquid inside. It had been sealed not only with a stopper but also a wax cap to prevent any leakage. What really struck him was why the label was pink of all things. Perhaps pink was supposed to be the color that chemists used to depict poison on the inside. Maybe different colored labels meant different things. Green could mean a vitamin, or red could mean a narcotic. Such a sweet, and lovely little color; you’d normally incline pink to mean something for a baby or a young girl.</p><p> </p><p>To put death juxtaposed to pink was just… unnerving. And to know that this pink, this label, this bottle, was to be used to kill O’Brien made him feel very strange indeed.</p><p> </p><p>Around noon, his silence was intruded upon by a knock at the door. He put up the bottle and called out ‘enter’ only to find Bates and Anna on the other side. Both of them looked nervous, like they knew instinctively he would not appreciate what they were about to say. He could no longer look at them without inevitably thinking of how they’d said nothing to his defense when the police had made to arrest him.</p><p> </p><p>How they were either so frightened of being associated, or so unsure of what to do, that they hadn’t even tried to help him. He didn’t know if he could ever forgive any of them for that. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Mr. Barrow, Thomas…” Anna’s familiar edge made his teeth clench. She took yet another step forward, trying for generosity: “I just want to say that I know how you feel.”</p><p> </p><p>“No you don’t,” he scoffed. What utter hogwash; how could she ever possibly think that when she was a normal woman with a husband in a sanctified marriage?</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve been arrested too,” how odd that she should take offense to him during this moment. She seemed almost shocked that he would imagine her to be pampered. “I know what it feels like to be handcuffed in front of everyone you know.”</p><p> </p><p>He could not help the tense little laugh that got caught in his throat. “You were innocent,” he reminded her with a calm nod of the head.</p><p> </p><p>She didn’t know what to say to that. It was for the best that she didn’t speak.</p><p> </p><p>Bates took up the charge, a little more sober than his wife when it came to expectations. “Albert brought you a package this morning. Is it what I think it is?”</p><p> </p><p>He withdrew the bottle of arsenic from his pocket, wiggled it before Bates with his fingers, and then offered it to him so that he could take it. Bates examined it up close, his eyes starting to dim with age.</p><p> </p><p>“Good,” he glanced at Thomas, “So should we do it tonight?”</p><p> </p><p>“… I don’t care anymore,” he said, and he bitterly meant it. “Do whatever the hell you want. I’m done this time. I’m well and truly done.”</p><p> </p><p>It might have been more polite of him to stay and explain what he meant, but that would mean rehashing his whole life out to a series of people that didn’t understand and didn’t care. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to share relationships with these people if he wasn’t willing to come to the table with his side of emotions, but after the other night Thomas had to decide if he even wanted to have relationships in the house anymore.</p><p> </p><p>Frankly, he just didn’t know.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>So, he left Bates and Anna in his office, holding that bottle of arsenic, and went to the only place where he knew he’d find sanctuary and understanding.</p><p> </p><p>He went to the basement and sought out Christopher.</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>It was funny how you could live in a place for nearly twenty years and still not fully know its depths. To be told that there were secret passageways in the cellar was laughable until Christopher had shown him, and then Thomas had really had his mind blown. Beautiful, vaulted ceilings, broken cobblestone floors… here indeed were the reminders that this place hadn’t always been associated with the Crawley’s. At one point in time, it had been meant for God. It seemed that God did not take kindly to being forgotten.</p><p> </p><p>They were joined after an hour by Richard who had been told by Bates and Anna where to find Thomas. Apparently, there was a feeling amongst the staff that Thomas was being ungenerous, and it was getting him so riled up that he’d decided to join the others in the basement instead of dealing with the audacity of heterosexuals.</p><p> </p><p>They were like a fucking plague sometimes.</p><p>“Remember the night it all started for us?” Thomas’ voice was a sudden sharp sound bouncing upon the cobblestones. How long had it been since these halls had known noise? Had it been in the times of monks and nuns, bowing their heads in common prayer? It felt like a hoard of dead men were listening in on their conversation.</p><p>On either side of him, Richard and Christopher sat enjoying the calm and silence of the tomb. Chris smoked a shared cigarette, occasionally blowing long plumes out of his mouth. Thomas had long since finished his own. Richard seemed close to drifting off to sleep and fiddled with a pebble beneath his fingers.</p><p>“I was so scared,” he said, “But last night was even worse, ‘cause it was in front of all of them. Carson…” His voice trailed away; tongue muted by the conversation they’d shared in the office. How for just one tiny moment, before Mrs. Hughes had opened the door…</p><p>But it hadn’t been enough, not near enough, to wipe away so many years of sorrow and misplaced anger.</p><p>Christopher blew out a plume of smoke, so long that it touched the opposite wall before curling away into nothingness. “It is strange, having it all out in the open, isn’t it? All we know to do is hide.”</p><p>“I wish I knew how to be happier,” He meant it deep down in his bones. “I feel like I’ll always be sad.”</p><p>But Christopher’s response to this was rather risqué. He turned, eyed Thomas with clear fancy, and declared, “If I could, Id’ make love to you right here, right now.”</p><p>It was nice to know that, even after a mental fall out and twenty years of exhausting stress, he could still be considered a ball and chain. But this was a rather bold thing to be said aloud, even for Christopher; he looked to Richard, wondering if yet another fight would break out.</p><p>Instead, Richard looked inspired.</p><p>“Sound idea,” he said.</p><p>That was rather unexpected. Unsure of what to say in reply, Thomas mused, “ S’bit dirty down here. Don’t fancy getting dirt on my bare arse. An’ I thought you two hated one another?”</p><p>“I think in lieu of everything, I’ve realized that I don’t <em>hate </em>Chris,” Richard explained. Thomas blinked rapidly, amazed. “I simply see far too much of myself in him to be entirely comfortable.”</p><p>“We are rather similar, when you get down to it,” Christopher agreed.</p><p>This was a heartwarming turn of events. It might have taken the near end to bring it about but by god if he wasn’t going to enjoy it. Whether they liked it or not, both Richard and Christopher held dear spots in Thomas’ heart.</p><p>“Well, I like it when you two get along,” He said. “So, promise to do it more often?”</p><p>“Promise,” Christopher said, before blowing out another plume of smoke.</p><p>“Promise,” Richard echoed. He tilted his head, rolling upon his neck till his nose was brushing against Thomas’ cheek. They were as intimate now as they’d ever been.</p><p>“Look… tomorrow… it’s gonna be mental,” He said. “Because the police will think she’s run. But when it gets quiet again, say Friday? I want to take you to York. Remember how I told you that I’m a man of certain persuasions? I know a place for men like us. A place where we can let our hair down and enjoy ourselves.”</p><p>“Do tell,” Christopher’s interest was piqued, despite the fact that he technically wasn’t on the list of guests.</p><p>“China Blue?” Richard asked. Christopher’s lips tugged into a tight smirk, rather naughty at the edges.</p><p>“OH ho ho,” He grinned, “I know China Blue. Never took you for the type, though.”</p><p>He shrugged, scratching a bit at an itch on his nose.</p><p>“And where do you enjoy yourself, in that whole mess?” Christopher asked. “I’ve heard about things that go on down there… orgies and such.”</p><p>“Oh no, I’m far too jealous for orgies,” Richard grinned. “But I do have an affinity for rope.”</p><p>And now the pair of them were chuckling, each ogling Thomas in the middle like he was a rather succulent ham. It was difficult to take his eyes off of one of them without the other swooping in. He’d never been cornered in a more delightful way.</p><p>“Imagine him, all tied up…” Christopher whispered, trailing his fingers upon Thomas’ left thigh.</p><p>“I intend to do more than imagine,” Richard agreed.</p><p>“Oh, to be a fly on that wall.”</p><p>“I’d like it if you were.”</p><p>The words, so sultry and dirty, slipped out of Thomas’ mouth before he could stop himself. His cheeks flushed bright pink with embarrassment, and he hid his face behind his hand, even as Christopher made spluttering noises and Richard wore a dirty little smile.</p><p>“I wouldn’t mind,” Richard grinned.</p><p>“Don’t tease me,” he warned. “Because if you give me an inch where he’s concerned, I’m gonna take a mile.”</p><p>It was, yet again, a solid reminder that Thomas had two suiters instead of one. It was a position more familiar to Lady Mary than himself, and he felt rather swamped by love in that moment with both men hip to hip.</p><p>“One step a time,” was Richard’s sage advice. “Let’s not rush a good thing.”</p><p>But there was a way that Richard was staring at Christopher… words needed to be said, but Thomas didn’t need to be there to hear them. He wondered if, after he was gone, the pair of them would re-connect and really hash it out.</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>The rest of the afternoon passed peacefully enough. Given the day off, Richard decided to use it to his best advantage by preparing for the upcoming weekend. He asked Lord Grantham for time off with Thomas (easily given and with multiple apologies for the police), booked a room for Friday night with China Blue (under the fake name of Jack White from a school chum), and began to prepare a valise. There was something so sensual and intoxicating about walking down to the stables, sequestering himself way in a tack room, and pulling out ropes normally meant to halter steeds. These were thin, softly braided ropes, meant to feel smooth and gentle upon the bare back of an animal, but they’d feel just as nice on a human too.</p><p>It was a little ridiculous that he got hard merely thinking about the idea of tying Thomas up. It had been too long since he’d been allowed to play with his vices. To be the animal that he wanted to be.</p><p>And so, it was with a slightly wilted step (due to oversensitivity), Richard returned to the house around five and headed back down to the basement alone. As he passed by the archway to the servant’s hall, Richard noted Thomas in the far corner scowling with Baxter. Neither of them looked particularly happy, but by this point in their relationship he understood that just because Thomas wasn’t smiling didn’t mean he wasn’t content. He was probably irritated about something or the other but being with Baxter brought him great peace. Maybe they were plotting ways to make O’Brien suffer that night.</p><p> </p><p>He slipped downstairs, carefully shutting the door behind him.</p><p> </p><p>A quick glance around the cellar told Richard that Christopher was back to hiding in the tunnels. They seemed to fascinate him, maybe because they were just as secret and secluded as he. Richard entered into the hidden alcove and heard the sounds of someone fumbling with metal.</p><p>“Chris?”</p><p>A pair of legs passed by the opening in the stone. Richard stuck his head out to see Christopher just on the other side, working on cleaning a gun. At his feet, he had a rucksack that was full of food; but where had this come from?</p><p>“Twice in one day, I feel blessed,” Christopher mumbled through a cigarette. He checked the chamber of his pistol and pulled the trigger to ensure the motion was clean; no bullet was inside so all that was heard was a heavy metallic click. Clearly whatever he heard, he didn’t like. He began to clean again.</p><p>“Going somewhere?” Richard teased.</p><p>“Getting the fuck outta here,” he sighed. “I can’t stay down here anymore. Swear to god I’m seein’ shit. Shadows on the wall and such. I know, I know-“ He pandered, waving a hand. “I know you probably think I’m batshit for that.”</p><p>“I believe in ghosts,” Richard corrected him. “I’ve seen one at a royal residence. Wouldn’t surprise me if this place were haunted. Where’d you get the food from?”</p><p>“Nicked it,” Christopher grinned. “When all the good little servants are asleep at night, I come out of the basement and pillage the pantry… It’ll do me well for my travels.”</p><p>It was funny to think of him crawling around the house like a mouse when the others were asleep, but Richard hadn’t just come down here to chew the fat. He had a bone to pick, and if Christopher truly was up and leaving tonight then he’d have to speak now or forever hold his peace.</p><p>“… Say we both have him.” Richard said.</p><p> </p><p>Christopher, who had been wrapped up in cleaning his gun, faltered. For a moment, he simply stared at the floor, his mind clearly enraptured by the idea of having his wildest fantasies. When he met Richard’s eyes, there was something dark and devious there. Something which warned not to tempt a desperate man.</p><p>“You talked to him about this?” Christopher asked, his voice low.</p><p>“Not yet,” Richard said. “I’ve been letting him have a moment to himself, he’s up there with Baxter puttin’ the world to rights.”</p><p>Christopher returned to cleaning his gun, his spirits slightly dampened. “Let’s see if he agrees.”</p><p>“Well, if he agrees, I agree,” Richard explained.</p><p>“Why?” He gestured with the unloaded gun, disbelieving. “Why the hell are you agreein’ now? I thought you were ready to kick me into the first shallow grave you dug. An’ now you’re okay with me fuckin’ the love of your life? How does that work out?”</p><p>It was, admittedly, a distinct change of heart.</p><p>“I guess I realized when that bastard Briggs was tryin to kill me, that life is short,” it was the best explanation he could give, and in truth he hadn’t really thought to much about it himself. “An we were arguing over nothing, weren’t we? The answer was right in front of us the whole time, and we were actin’ like children, don’t you think?”</p><p>Christopher nodded, but he remained silent, still waiting for better judgement.</p><p>“… So, what does this make us?” he asked.</p><p>“Very lucky,” Richard offered.</p><p>“But how would it work… the three of us,” he gestured between them. “You thinkin’… together? Separately?”</p><p>“I’ve never been in a relationship with more than two people, but I think we could make it work,” he offered. “We’re goin’ to China Blue on Friday night, why not meet us there if you’re leaving, and we can… talk it out.”</p><p>“Is that what we’re going to be doing, talking.”</p><p>“Oh no, I plan on having my wicked way with him,” Richard said. “He’ll be a little… tied up.”</p><p>“Can I have my way with him if he agrees?” Christopher asked.</p><p>“Why not,” the idea was arousing, he wouldn’t deny it. “He won’t put up much of a fight.”</p><p>Was it Richard’s imagination, or were Christopher’s pupils dilating?</p><p>“Christ… my dick’s so hard I could beat a moose to death with it,” he grumbled. “I gotta get out of this basement… And I know how I’m gonna do it.”</p><p>“How?” Richard asked.</p><p>“Tonight, after you kill the bitch, let me know and I’ll come out. I’ll help you get the body out of the house, an’ then I’ll track down our favorite policeman and gut his fat throat before he can spill to everyone that we’re a bunch of queers,” Christopher explained.</p><p>“Another murder?” He complained. “Chris, you’re goin’ straight to hell, you know that?”</p><p>“What and he isn’t?”</p><p>“I’m just sayin’… can’t we do something… less… evil?”</p><p>“Hey, you’re the one poisoning O’Brien.”</p><p>“Yeah, but I’m not cuttin’ her throat!”</p><p>“Details, details,” he waved a hand. “We can hash it out when we have our cupcake tied up.” Richard had to suppress a laugh at that. “Now look,” Christopher pointed down the hall, which vanished into a murky nothingness that made Richard’s stomach flip. “You follow that all the way down, you’ll hit a split. Take a left, and it’ll eventually come out into the forests that surround the estate. It’s an old shaft, goes for probably a mile or two… so once I’m done with Griggs I’ll slip back in, and head out that way. They’ll never be able to find me.”</p><p>“Christ, it’s a miracle a wild animal hasn’t gotten in here,” Richard wondered.</p><p>“Don’t get excited, there are bats,” Chris ran a hand through his hair, and smoothed out the corners of his trademark mustache. “So… talk to him?”</p><p>“Right.” They shook hands, a queer sign of friendship between two once enemies. “How do we find you, if we need you?”</p><p>“I’ll be at China Blue on Friday night,” Chris said with a knowing smile. “And we’ll talk more then.”</p><p>Friday was starting to line up as the best night of Richard’s life.</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>Though there was no particular need, and he ought to be doing other things, Thomas headed upstairs to his bedroom during the family’s supper time and proceeded to cut his hair. It had grown slightly long at the ends and was beginning to tickle him on the back of his neck and behind his ear. It was mildly infuriating to try and go about his business only to constantly scratch at his temples.</p><p>As Lord Grantham’s valet over the years, he’d cut his fair share of hair and knew how to do it without making a pig’s ear. Still, as he sat upon his bed and tried to get the right angle in a hand mirror, it was a bit risky. It was always easier to do this to another person than yourself.</p><p>A gentle knock at the door boded the arrival of Richard, who was one of the very few in the house unoccupied. Even Anna and Bates would be fixing up Lord Grantham and Lady Mary’s chambers for their nightly toilet.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” Richard murmured. Thomas smiled, careful not to take his eyes off the mirror as he slowly cut the longer tips of his hair. Richard came behind him and placed a careful kiss upon his neck. It was a soft, feathery touch; he took the scissors from Thomas to snip at the base of his neck and behind his ears.</p><p>“Thank you,” he said. “I always hate the bit I can’t see.”</p><p>“You have such beautiful hair,” Richard mused. “I love the color.”</p><p>“Quit your flannelling.”</p><p>Richard became engrossed in his work, “I wanted to talk to you about a couple of things before tonight kicks off… Chris is going to track down Briggs and kill him, so that’ll stop the leak. Hopefully it’ll look like O’Brien did it on her way out.”</p><p>“God that’s so dangerous…”</p><p>“Yeah, but he’s gonna do what he wants to do, and I have to admit, Griggs is too dangerous to stay alive,” he brushed off stray hairs from the back of Thomas’ neck before using a fine-tooth comb to do his usual side part. “An’ he can’t stay cooped up in the basement forever. It’s not fair on him. There are bats and mold down there, and I’m pretty certain there are ghosts too.”</p><p>Bats and mold, he could believe… but ghosts? Thomas gave him a wry smile in the mirror.</p><p>“I know you’re a nonbeliever,” Richard grinned. He set the scissors aside, his task done. “But there’s more to talk about when it comes to Chris…”</p><p>He began to massage Thomas’ shoulders. It was soothing; and he closed his eyes, relaxing back into the touch.</p><p>“Look, I know this is weird to ask but… do you have feelings for Christopher?”</p><p>Thomas’ eyes popped open. He looked up at Richard and found him worried-</p><p>“Darling-“ He turned around on his seat, standing up, “What are you even saying? I love you. You know I love you-“</p><p>“No, no, you don’t understand-“</p><p>“I can’t believe you’d even-“</p><p>“Just listen to me.” Richard pressed a few fingers to Thomas’ mouth, urging him for silence with a gentle smile. “ I know things between him and I were initially tense-“</p><p>“Richard you tried to kill him with a bottle of wine.”</p><p>“But…” he paused, deep in thought, “The other day when that fat bastard Griggs was slappin’ my head in, I realized. What the fuck are we arguing about? It was so pointless, so stupid. I love you; he loves you… long ago you said, what if we could share? And I guess I shot it down too quickly. What if we can share? I like Chris. I do-“ He reiterated, for Thomas gave him a look of disbelief. “And… I think I could see myself being in an open relationship with him, so long as I had you.”</p><p>Maybe it was the fact that he’d taken a sedative twenty-four hours ago, but Thomas was starting to wonder if he was hallucinating. “Am I having a stroke?” He wondered out loud. Richard nudged him playfully upon the temple, the tiniest and sweetest headbutt.</p><p>“I’m serious,” he whispered. “I think maybe… maybe we could make it work. It would be odd, but we’re odd. And life is short. An’ fuckin’ hell, Tommy, he loves you. I mean, he’s gaga for you. He took a bullet for you. I love you too, and I’d die without you in my life, but I’ve had the distinct pleasure of bein your lover. Of touchin’ you, even if we haven’t shagged yet. He’s got nothing. And hell… is that right, Thomas? Is it right when you’ve already said…?” He paused, once again overtaken by thought.</p><p>Then, he ever so gently tucked a stray hair behind Thomas’ ear and whispered, “Am I right to deny him, so selfishly? When I love you so, and I know he’s dyin’ without you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Richard…” So complicated and multilayered was this problem that he didn’t know where to start. Yes, he deep down had some bizarre feelings for Christopher. They were muted and squashed, purposefully hidden by his desire to love Richard. If he let them flourish, he had no idea where they might lead. “I thought you didn’t want to share me.”</p><p>“I don’t think of it as sharing anymore,” he confessed. “It’s odd but… tonight we’re going to kill someone, aren’t we? And I always thought I was above him, at first. Like he was some kind of dirty petty criminal. But I get it now, I truly do. You can’t always take the high road. We’re human, both of us. He understands that and now… maybe I understand him.”</p><p>The look on Thomas’ face must have frightened Richard, for he blurted out, “Fuck, love, don’t tell me I’ve bungled it?”</p><p>“No… never…” he reached out, caressing Richard’s handsome face. He placed a loving kiss upon his lips to sooth him. “I just… I’m shocked. You hated him, and he hated you. You were both very…. Possessive and mental and…. Well… I never saw this happening in a million years.”</p><p>It certainly was bizarre, to say the least. If someone had told him forty-eight hours ago how the next two days were going to unfold, he’d have thought they were insane.</p><p>“Well, here we are,” Richard mumbled. Thomas kissed him one more time, just to sooth him some more. “So, what do you say, pet?”</p><p> </p><p>If he was honest, well and truly honest, it could work. He had feelings for Christopher, though he’d flattened them in his determination to be a loyal lover to Richard. If allowed to express them, he wondered what would follow? Was it possible that they could begin again, as a team instead of a pair?</p><p> </p><p>“I just don’t want to lose you,” he mumbled. Richard gave him another gentle headbutt.</p><p>“You never will.”</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>The rest of the evening past slowly, as if God knew what they were about to do and was punishing them for it. Thomas had no idea how they were going to get Carson, Mrs. Hughes, and Mrs. Patmore out of the house or away from the basement. He was beginning to doubt the poisoning plan. But finding out their strategy would mean sitting down and talking with Bates and Anna which was something he wasn’t willing to do. Anna was busy for most of the evening, her eyes manic as she went from room to room seemingly in search of something. Once or twice, Thomas caught sight of Bates grabbing Andy or Moseley by the elbow and whispering into their ear. They were nodding, confirming, clearly all in cahoots, but no one bothered either Thomas or Richard. Instead, they were allowed solitude by the fire as Richard showed Thomas a pocket map of York that he’d gotten on a school trip when he’d been small. On it, he showed him the location of his childhood home, his first employment, where they would be dining on Friday, and even where China Blue was located. Thomas was shocked to discover that China Blue was actually in the center of town but was hidden as a basement grotto underneath the crumbling remains of the old Roman wall. It turned out that a great deal of architecture was hidden beneath the surface. At one point in time it would have been used to store wine, weapons, and even allow soldiers a place of rest. Over the years, these catacombs had been closed off, whether by people avoiding the plague, or new houses being built over the old. There was no danger of police bursting into China Blue, because in order to get there you had to pass through several barriers of doors, and eventually someone would notice a break in with enough time to tell the others to run. All of it was so fascinating to Thomas that he hardly noticed the time passing until Baxter approached them with a determined look on her face.</p><p>“It’s almost time for the servant’s supper,” She said. Thomas felt his stomach flip.</p><p>“Right…” He mused. “What’s the plan?”</p><p>“Well, why don’t you look over there?” she murmured, tilting her head to where Carson had been sitting at the servant’s table reading a book. Amazingly enough, he was asleep… asleep of all things!</p><p>Amazed, Thomas rose from his chair and walked over to carefully touch him upon the shoulder. Carson did not stir.</p><p>“… Mr. Carson?” Thomas shook him a little harder, becoming quite nervous. For just one second, sheer panic shot through his heart. Then, Carson jerked, sucking in a rattling breath; his eyes fluttered open.</p><p>“Mm….” Carson rolled his neck, groggy eyes fluttering open. “My god…” He looked aback, in dismay, “did I fall asleep?” He gave an almighty yawn, enormous mouth stretching wide to reveal yellowing teeth. “At the table, god help me.”</p><p>“Perhaps…. You ought to go home for the evening,” Thomas offered. “I can take over, now that dinner is done.” This was a paltry statement to cover up the fact that his heart was still hammering in his chest. For just one moment there, he’d thought Carson wouldn’t wake up and that something had genuinely been wrong with him.</p><p>“Perhaps,” he certainly looked like he wanted to go to bed. “I’ve never done that before. What a scene to make in front of the day maids.”</p><p>But Baxter was quick to sooth the weary man, “They’ve already gone home Mr. Carson. Only Thomas and myself saw. We won’t tell.”</p><p>Richard came down the stairs; when he spotted Thomas in the servants hall, he made a beeline for him.</p><p>“Mrs. Hughes has gone home,” He wondered. “Said she was exhausted. I can’t make heads or tails of it.”</p><p>Now Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson were both falling asleep? This just didn’t add up.</p><p>“And let me guess,” Thomas grumbled to Baxter, “Mrs. Patmore is always feeling tired?”</p><p>“How ever did you know?” Was her mild reply. So, it seemed that Anna’s magic trick of a double dose of sleeping potion from Mr. Bakewell’s had come back to haunt them all again.</p><p>“Why don’t you ask the chauffeur to take you home?” Thomas offered. Carson stood up on weary legs, looking like he might topple over at any moment.</p><p>“You know… that might be a very good idea,” he wondered. But even as he looked like he might just stagger out the door and say no more of it, he became regretful, “Are you going to be alright if I go? I don’t want you back at work before you’re ready… Can you handle the staff eating tonight, and locking up the doors? I don’t think you’d forget to lock them, but I’m worried with Coyle on the loose.”</p><p>Thomas’ lack of an immediate affirmation worried Carson deeply. Richard butted in, “I’ll help him.”</p><p>“I will too,” Baxter chimed in.</p><p>“Good…. Good.” Carson gave another gigantic yawn. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning first thing. If you need me, ring.” And with that, he left. So sleepy was he that he forgot to even shrug on his outer coat as he walked out the back door. As soon as he was out of earshot, Thomas turned on Baxter annoyed.</p><p>“What did you give him?” He wondered.</p><p>“Well, it warned on the bottle not to take too much if you were over sixty, but we couldn’t figure out how old he is so we just gave him one pill.”</p><p>“Uh, I think we can safely assume he’s over sixty,” Thomas said.</p><p>“Did you give one to Mrs. Patmore too?” Richard asked.</p><p>“No,” Baxter said. “We gave her two. Because apparently, she’s younger than I thought, or so Daisy said.”</p><p>“Christ help me,” Thomas hissed. He stomped into the kitchen, fully expecting to find the cook knocked out on the floor. Instead, he found her at her sitting table, nodding off with her chin in her hand. Daisy was at the stove, humming a mild tune beneath her breath as she stirred a massive pot of chicken and dumplings.</p><p>“Daisy,” Thomas made her jump; she looked over her shoulder, amazed.</p><p>“No need to shout,” She grumbled. “I’m right here.”</p><p>“Mr. Carson has just gone home. Mrs. Hughes has already left,” he explained. “And I’m sure Mrs. Patmore is feeling under the weather as well?”</p><p>Instead of looking ashamed about the fact that she’d essentially drugged her boss with way more pills than necessary, Daisy just smiled and set her spoon down to trot over to the cook and rub her shoulder.</p><p>“Mrs. Patmore?” She asked brightly, “how are you feeling tonight?”</p><p>“Like I’m ready to fall over,” She slurred. “What’s with us tonight? You’d have thought we’ve been drugged.”</p><p>With was ironic because that was exactly what had happened.</p><p>“why don’t you go up for the night?” Thomas offered. “Take a tray, the family’s done and dusted, it’s just the servants and we won’t make a fuss.”</p><p>“Do you mean it?” She took off her spectacles, rubbing them clean with the edge of her apron. “Truly?” He nodded.</p><p>“Daisy?” she asked.</p><p>“I’ll fine,” she returned to her pot of chicken and dumplings, resuming stirring it so that it didn’t stick on the bottom.</p><p>“Well, if no one’s complaining, I’d certainly appreciate the evening off.” She rose up, groaning and cracking her neck where it must have hurt at the joint. She began to make up a tray for herself, and though she looked exhausted her hand never wavered. Perhaps she <em>was </em>younger than she looked.</p><p>“Mrs. Patmore how old are you?” he asked.</p><p>“What a thing to ask me,” She grumbled.</p><p>“Fifty-three,” Daisy piped up. Thomas did a double take, looking back to Richard whose eyebrows were in danger of vanishing into his hairline.</p><p>“I know I look a bit young for my age,” She said, which was the exact opposite of the truth; in fact, she looked sixty-three at least. “I heard from Mr. Carson earlier today that you two are taking Friday off. That’ll be nice.” She gave them a tiny if tired smile. “Where are you taking him to?” She asked Richard.</p><p>“Dinner,” Richard said.</p><p>“Obviously,” She gestured with a hand. “But where?”</p><p>“I was thinking Betty’s,” he said.</p><p>At the name, her eyes brightened. She went to the wall where her overcoat hung upon a beaten peg and withdrew her wallet to pull out a half crown. She gave it to Richard, “Well if that’s where you’re going, get me a hamper. It’s called the Yorkshire Delight. Repeat that?”</p><p>“Yorkshire Delight,” he parroted back.</p><p>“It’s expensive, but it’s worth it, and it’ll have lots of goodies to keep me happy. An’ bring me back my change mind!”</p><p>She put her wallet back up, and for a moment became lost in thought. Richard pocketed her money, bemused.</p><p>“When my mother was blue, I remember my father would buy her a trinket in the market to cheer her up.” She took off her apron, hanging it up next to her coat and unpinned her hat,  “Buy him a trinket. Something special to show you care.”</p><p> </p><p>And with that, she took her loaded tray and went upstairs. She left behind a confused Richard and an irritated Thomas.</p><p>He murmured, “Would you like a trinket?”</p><p>“I’ll get my trinket at China Blue,” he muttered back. Richard gave him a wry smile, clearly in full agreement with this delightful little plan. Now it was just them and Daisy in the kitchen, who was still humming a simple little song.</p><p>“Did you have to give her two pills?” He demanded.</p><p>“She’s hard to put down,” was Daisy’s pallid excuse.</p><p>“You’ll be regretting that when we can’t get her up in the morning-“</p><p>“Mr. Ellis, can’t you get him to stop complaining for five minutes,” Daisy snapped. “I’m making dinner alone tonight, and I need my space.”</p><p>“Steady on,” Richard warned. He wasn’t in the mood for jesting when it came to their intimacy. In a moment of pure karma, Andy entered the kitchen and made a beeline for Thomas; clearly, he’d been looking for him.</p><p>“Perhaps I can get Andy to stop your complaining,” Thomas sneered; at the stove, Daisy rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath.</p><p>“Mr. Barrow, the last maid’s gone for the night, the family’s taken care of. Mr. Carson just left; I saw the chauffeur taking him home. Where’s Mrs. Patmore?”</p><p>“She’s gone up because your wife drugged her,” Thomas snapped. Andy would hold no punches.</p><p>“Don’t pretend is isn’t a good idea just because you’re in a sour mood-“</p><p>“Don’t you get fresh with me!” he warned. “I am the butler of this house! Not your chum!”</p><p>“Thomas…” Richard was at his elbow. He glanced behind him and noted that Richard was less than impressed with his antics.</p><p>He leaned in, and whispered in his ear, “You’re getting jumpy because of what we’re about to do. Just calm down and refocus yourself. It might not have been nice to drug the others, but it does get them out of the way and that does make sense.”</p><p> </p><p>He realized in hindsight that he was acting a bit like a prick. He took a small breath, went for honesty, and then said to Andy, “Look I’m not trying to get hot under the collar, but I’d like to have been told we were going to …. Drug people.” He felt a bit of a fool for getting upset when quite frankly they were about to commit murder.</p><p>“Well, we wanted to tell you,” Daisy punctuated her words by smacking her wooden spoon on the rim of her enormous stew pot, “But you were a bit out of sorts today and we didn’t want to bother you when you were down in the basement with you know who.”</p><p>Admittedly, it was understandable.  </p><p>Thomas shook out his arms and hands, trying to get back into the flow. Re-settled with a small breath, he turned to his footman and got down to business. If they were going to knock O’Brien over, they’d have to get their act together. There could be no room for slip ups tonight.</p><p>“The silver?”</p><p>“I’ll deal with it after we get back,” Andy said.</p><p>“Albert?”</p><p>“He’s still here. In the boot room.”</p><p> </p><p>“Albert!” Thomas raised his voice. He stuck his head out into the hallway, calling again, “Albert!”</p><p>Albert popped his head out of the boot room, with a slight smudge of polish on his cheek; clearly he’d been working on the servants boots. Thomas gestured for him to join the others in the kitchen. He came willingly, wiping his hands on a dirty rag pulled through his beltloop.</p><p>“Yes Mr. Barrow?” He asked.</p><p>“As a thank you for this morning, I’ve decided you’re to have the night off,” Thomas declared.</p><p>“I don’t need it,” He shook his head.</p><p>“Then I’m ordering you,” Thomas gave a haggard sigh. “I want you to go to town and take Sergeant Willas with you. You’re to go to the Grantham Arms, and enjoy a beer. That is not up for negotiation.”</p><p>At the sound of beer, Albert’s brown eyes began to twinkle with mirth. “D’you really mean it? Really and truly?”</p><p>“Really and truly,” Thomas repeated. “My wallet is in my coat in my office. Go get a shilling and use it to pay for your beer.”</p><p>Albert looked like he’d been told he was getting a twenty-pound raise.</p><p>Though it was incredibly forward, he bolted to Thomas and threw his arms about him so that his head collided with Thomas’ chest. Thomas’ ribs, still healing, zinged with pain.</p><p>“Thank you, Mr. Barrow!” He was beaming from ear to ear, crooked teeth pearly white. “You’re a better man than you know!”</p><p>Unsure of what else to do, Thomas gave Albert a tiny, timid pat atop the head. The boy instantly let go and ran away, utterly chuffed by the delights the night would have in store. The others, having been witness to all of this, were trying their hardest not to laugh in his face.</p><p>“… Nice boy,” Thomas mused, glancing to Richard. “Shit judge of character.”</p><p>He walked back out into the hallway, noting out of the side of his vision that Albert was now happily skipping down the hall with his newscap and his coat. As he slammed the back door, Thomas gestured to Baxter who was talking with Anna at the servant’s table. Though he called only for one, both walked up.</p><p> </p><p>“Call for the table,” Thomas told them. “And get O’Brien down here. We don’t have long if we want to do this, and we have a tight window.”</p><p>“I’ll go get her right now,” Anna promised. “I’ll drag her down by the hair if I have to.”</p><p>“And Anna…” Baxter called out to her as she left; she paused at the foot of the stairs, “Don’t let her be late. Eleven is our window.”</p><p>“Leave it to me,” she promised. She headed upstairs, and soon vanished from sight.</p><p>Baxter and Thomas walked back into the kitchen; he nodded pointedly to Daisy.</p><p>He checked his pocket watch to find the time was ten thirty.</p><p>“Thirty minutes till our window,” He said. “Where’s Mr. Bates?”</p><p>“Upstairs, I’ll go get him,” Andy scooted around their group and vanished out the door.</p><p>“I’ll set the table tonight,” Thomas said. It was normally a job meant for Albert, but with him gone it was all hands to the pump.</p><p>“I’ll help,” Richard said.</p><p>The pair of them made quick work of the task, setting out plates, napkins, spoons, cups, and so on just as they might have done on any other night. Both of them were far enough in their career that they hadn’t set a table in a good long while, but Thomas’ footman training had rendered him perfectly capable of holding to the task. It was impossible to contemplate that they were actually setting up the stage for someone’s death. It didn’t seem right, it didn’t seem… seem…</p><p>Human. It felt like the sort of thing that Coyle would do.</p><p>Thomas paused, hands bare and splayed upon the table. He was panting and didn’t even realize it. At the door to the servant’s hall stood Baxter, watching him worriedly.</p><p>“Are you alright?” She asked.</p><p>He supposed he could lie and pretend that he was fine. That he was glad to kill O’Brien after all the wicked things she had done, and that he would relish her death when she’d tried so hard to cause his own.</p><p>Instead, he shook his head.</p><p>The result was instantaneous. Both Richard and Baxter came to his side, each of them outbidding the other to be most supportive.</p><p>“Remember, she’s Coyle’s agent,” Richard urged. “She’s already gotten Mr. Mason killed, and she was ready to kill you all the other night. She tried to kill you Thomas. She is a murderess.”</p><p>“I know this may seem like a vile thing to do,” Baxter agreed, “I know you two have history… if it makes you feel better, you’re not the one who came up with the idea. I am. And I’m ready to go down for it. I know how women like her work. The minute she gets the chance she’ll try to kill you again.”</p><p>And the worst part was that Thomas bitterly had to agree.</p><p>They’d crossed the line long ago, when O’Brien had tried to have them murdered on the road. That ought to have been the end of it, and instead she’d doubled down and tried to get Baxter to commit suicide through mental intimidation. This would have killed not only her, but her unborn baby as well; O’Brien knew she was pregnant, and that hadn’t stopped her. And then… the wedding. Not only had she destroyed Moseley and Baxter’s special day, burned down a community church, and attacked everyone they loved… she’d also tried to kill them in a cave.</p><p>And when all of that had failed, she’d tried to destroy his life and Richard’s. The only reason she hadn’t succeeded was because Sergeant Willas had been a kind and forgiving man. Even so, he’d barely been able to keep his colleague in check. Now, Christopher was going to have to tidy up loose ends to make sure they stayed out of jail… and where would it end? When would she be satisfied? What if they didn’t go through with this tonight, and she ended up either killing them or destroying them later down the road?</p><p>They’d all regret it to their dying day.</p><p>He let out an exhausted sigh and took a seat at the head of the table. It was his silent way of conceding defeat. Of washing his hands of sympathy for O’Brien.</p><p>Out of the corner of his eye, Thomas noted a shadow shifting in the kitchen. He looked, and saw Daisy ladling chicken dumplings into bowls. The very last bowl was slightly different from the others; rabbits decorated their bowl rims but the final one had chickens. And in this one, she put the poison.</p><p>Thomas watched her, how she uncorked the bottle, dumped the entire amount of white powder into the bowl, and stirred it with a stick that someone must have gotten from the yard. Thomas caught her eye.</p><p>She held it, continuing to stir. Normally a single dash would take care of a rat… the whole bottle?</p><p>The whole bottle could probably kill fifty people, nevertheless one. It seemed that Daisy wasn’t interested in cutting corners.  </p><p> </p><p>She stopped stirring and dumped the stick into a bin where scraps from onions and bad bits of carrot were overflowing.</p><p>Bates came down the stairs, gesturing to them all. He pointed silently to the ceiling. It seemed that she was coming down. Daisy snapped to someone Thomas’ couldn’t see; Andy and Moseley appeared from the hallway, clearly having been hiding there. Moseley checked his pocket watch, noting the time, and took his normal seat by Baxter. They were all gathering around the table, each of them filing into their chairs. The last to come down as Anna; she paused at the bottom of the steps, glaring up at the top.</p><p> </p><p>And then she appeared.</p><p> </p><p>O’Brien was dressed in a simple maroon frock. It seemed she no longer wanted to put up with the guise of being a servant. Her gray hair was slightly warped, as if she’d washed it and then not dried it properly. It added up to give her a weary appearance, like she was more tired than she’d ever been in her life.</p><p>She descended the stairs for one last time, just like she’d done a thousand times before. At the door to the servant’s hall, she surveyed them all, and her eyes finally fell upon the vacant seat between Anna and Richard.</p><p>“Go on,” Anna snapped.</p><p>Bitter, knowing she had no choice but to obey their commands with policemen at the door, she carefully drug out her chair and sat down.</p><p>“Daisy….” Baxter called out softly. “We’re ready.”</p><p>“Coming,” She sing-songed.</p><p>She appeared with bowls decorated in rabbits and sat them down before each of them. The chicken and dumplings smelt absolutely sumptuous and was made from the remains of a chicken that the upstairs had had earlier that day for lunch. Normally, he’d be delighted to partake in a meal like this. Tonight, however, he felt like a bite would make him violently ill. He’d seen Daisy put the poison in one bowl, but he was still anxious about the proximity of that bowl to all the others. What if some extra powder had fallen into the wrong bowl?</p><p>But he needn’t have worried. After a lifetime of serving up every type of food imaginable, Daisy knew how to keep stew in a bowl.</p><p>Daisy went back for round two, and as she did so she brought out the infamous rabbit bowl along with all their drinks. As she laid out the table, Anna began to speak; Thomas suddenly realized that the whole table had been unnervingly silent; normally they were all having a good jaw over supper.</p><p>“I’m doing a pit of a pull through, of girl’s names in case my baby is a girl,” Anna explained to the others. “I’m getting down everyone’s mother’s names… or sisters and aunts. Anything of that nature.” She pulled out a small notebook from her pocket which normally would keep lists of chores for Lady Mary. The pen that went with it was small and worn down, once golden and now a dull tarnished brown.</p><p>“Can I add yours?” She asked him.</p><p>It was funny to think of his childhood. His mother, Alice Barrow, had been a weedy and anxious woman who’d panicked at the thought of disease getting into her house. She’d washed her hands incessantly, so much so that she’d developed a slight rash on her knuckles from the harsh soap. In contrast his older sister Margret (a childhood friend of Baxter’s), had been a bit of a wild child. Thomas had been the good boy, staying at home with his father and minding the shop while Margret had been off frolicking in the woods with Baxter, bringing home critters and bunches of wildflowers that their mother had put in a vase on the kitchen table.</p><p>“Alice and Margret, “he grumbled. Anna wrote something down, though he couldn’t tell which name.</p><p>“Don’t forget your aunt, Samantha,” Baxter added.</p><p>Anna was doing a tally, curious at the collection. “Mrs. Patmore has a sister name Alice. I’ve already got that on here…. I don’t have Margret or Samantha though. If I gather enough ticks to a name, I probably could go with a silent majority.”</p><p>Daisy placed O’Brien’s bowl in front of her, but the movement was cold and sharp. Daisy kept coming back to the table, laying out bread, butter, and even a small salad. This was a bit overkill since they were all about to abandon dinner and bloody well murder someone.</p><p>When it was all finished, Daisy nodded to Thomas in a silent cue of ‘go’. He checked his watch and saw that it was 10:49. They were cutting it very close.</p><p>“Before we begin tonight, Mr. Carson has asked me to start doing evening prayers as he did when he was butler.” Thomas said. This was a lie, Carson had never told him to do it, but in lieu of what they were about to do it seemed only right that they give off a prayer. Bitter at what he’d been forced to do, Thomas gave out the following quote:</p><p>“God knows why we do what we do, and if that’s not good enough for him he can go fuck himself. Amen,” he then picked up his wine goblet and took an enormous swallow.</p><p>No one else made to eat. Anna looked more scandalized by his awful prayer than by the fact that they were about to murder someone. Richard palmed his forehead, exhausted.</p><p>“That was an odd prayer,” Bates finally spoke up.</p><p>“It’s all I could come up with,” Was the only thing he knew to say.</p><p>Bates clasped his hands in prayer, and the rest of the table save for Thomas and O’Brien followed suit: “Lord bless this food for the nourishment of our bodies and us to thy service… and help Thomas to learn how to pray better without cursing your existence.”</p><p>“Amen,” the entire table echoed, even Richard. It felt like a small smack in the face.</p><p>With an actual prayer said to bless the food (and poison), the others took to their food. For a moment, it was a simple back and forth of putting butter on bread, and then putting the bread on a plate. Plenty of people sipped their wine, but no one seemed eager to touch their stew.</p><p>Thomas heart was hammering in his throat. He just kept staring at the crucifix on the wall.</p><p>They began to eat.</p><p>It was a slow, grinding pace, that inch by inch resumed to a normal flow. Even so there was a halting hesitancy in the way that Anna paused with her chicken and dumplings. In the way that Baxter just kept tearing her bread instead of eating it. Thomas, for his part, ate absolutely nothing. He kept his eyes locked upon the crucifix on the wall, as if tempting Christ himself to come out of the wall and throttle him for daring to commit murder in his view.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>And then, the coughing started.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Thomas closed his eyes, simply listening. The coughing was getting louder, more like hacking, and it grew to such a crescendo that he could not bear to pretend to be oblivious anymore. He opened his eyes and found O’Brien red faced and white lipped, desperately trying to suck down as much water as she could even as she clawed at her throat.</p><p>Everyone was staring, some with spoons still in their mouths. Baxter was gently threading her fingers free of breadcrumbs, a fire in her eyes.</p><p>She could no longer stand it. Jerking up from the table, O’Brien staggered back against the wall. It must have come to a shock to her, that her legs were weak. A sudden wave of horror rolled across her pained face, and she looked at the table agog with fingers trembling to the corners of her mouth. They came back tainted bright with crimson.</p><p>She was bleeding from her mouth.</p><p>“What have you done to me?” Her voice was croaky, raw, barely recognizable for its usual smokey timber. No one answered her.</p><p>She tried to run, perhaps hoping that she could make it to a phone and call a doctor, or perhaps get to a toilet and flush her mouth out with water from the sink. But her body was already too weak to endure much more, and she collapsed to the ground, trembling violently.</p><p>She seized, clawing at her throat only for her hands to slacken and fall at her sides. Thomas slowly stood up, his chair scraping painfully upon the floor. The soles of his leather shoes clicked softly upon the ancient wood as he walked around the table to stand by O’Brien’s head. There, he stared down at her, apathy making him an unwilling observer to her demise.</p><p>Her face had gone beyond a normal shade of white. Her skin was now clammy and cold, all warmth fleeing from her body as the poison sucked her dry.</p><p>Now she knew the full truth, and who would be the victor of their little spat.</p><p>It was unbelievably cathartic, to watch her die before him. To know that she was going to suffer just as he had, and that her ability to ruin him had officially come to an end. He had survived her, and her assaults.</p><p>She could no longer hurt him.</p><p>As the blood in her mouth turned into a pink foam, her cheeks began to spot with purple and her eyes glazed over. Thomas knew that these were her final moments, and that his face would be the last that she would ever see.</p><p>He felt no joy, no humor in the act. Only the relief that it was finally over.</p><p>“…Fair…. Enough…” The words were barely human, itching from her throat. They seemed to do her in more than the poison, like the final admission robbed her of all her strength.</p><p>It was, to a point, the white flag which signaled the end of their longstanding dispute.</p><p>She kept staring at him, even as her gaze grew listless and blank. It took Thomas a moment to simply stare at her and register that she was not staring back. That she was, instead, no longer with him in that moment.</p><p>That she’d gone beyond their realm, to whatever awaited her, and her punishment or pleasure now lay in the hands of another. And maybe, one day, Thomas would join her wherever she was, and they could have it out one more time.</p><p>He had to wonder why his throat was clenching.</p><p> </p><p>He was joined by Richard, who was much quieter and smoother than Thomas in his movements. He stooped down on bended knee and took the O’Brien’s pulse at her jugular. For a moment, no one dared to speak or move as he registered her fate.</p><p>“Yep,” He muttered, standing back up.</p><p>So, it seemed the matter was officially settled.</p><p> </p><p>Without another word, Thomas, Richard, and Andy gathered around O’Brien’s body to lift her up by the arms and legs. He’d expected her to be heavy, but she was disturbingly light. He had to wonder how much she weighed. Richard nudge him off, jerking his head to the basement door.</p><p>“Get him,” he whispered.</p><p>Thomas let go of O’Brien, allowing Richard to carry her alone. Even Andy was unneeded; Richard could swiftly lift her over his shoulder and hold her there like a sack of potatoes. After a lifetime of lifting trunks the size of small horses, her body was nothing to balk over.</p><p>Anna and Bates were grabbing people’s coats, passing them out so that people could prepare for the cold. Daisy was gathering up bowls, trying to make the table look like it was finished. In truth, none of them had actually finished their meals.</p><p>Thomas went to the basement door and opened it to poke his head into the dark.</p><p>“Christopher, it’s done,” He called out softly.</p><p>It took less than a second for Chris to appear; he’d been hiding just behind the door and grinned like a ghost as he stepped back into the light of day for the first time in over a week. He took a deep lungful of sweet, clean air untouched by mold and declared with joy, “Hello friends. I see we are on schedule!”</p><p>But this word brought to mind the timetable that they were up against.</p><p>“Anna, check the time?” Bates said.</p><p>She checked a weather-beaten pocket watch that might have belonged to her mother at one point, “Ten fifty-nine,” she said, breathless.</p><p>“Let me get the door and check for policemen. If they’re there, I’ll lead them off,” Bates said. Despite the hobble in his leg, he moved promptly and with a sense of clear urgency.</p><p>“Right!” Chris clapped his hands together, rubbing them enthusiastically. “I’m off to take care of Griggs.”</p><p>“Last time I saw the prick he was at the back door. He’ll have moved by now,” Richard lamented.</p><p>“Ah, never mind that, I’m happy for the walk,” Chris said. He must feel like a man being released from prison. He completely ignored the fact that Richard was holding a dead body over his shoulder; it didn’t seem to phase him in the slightest.</p><p>“Coast is clear!” Bates called out to his fellows. “We have to move quick!”</p><p>“Got it?” Moseley asked Richard, offering to help.</p><p>“Yep, make way,” He grunted. He was the first out with Thomas and Christopher straight behind, both of them eager to help him load O’Brien’s corpse onto the wagonette. The moon was hidden from the sky, which made their task both easy and difficult. It would be difficult for someone to spot them and their nefarious task, but it also would make it more difficult to navigate their way through the roads and Coyle was still out there somewhere in the dark.</p><p>Richard dumped O’Brien’s body onto the floor of the wagonette, and it was all hands to the pump hiding her beneath blankets which had been made ready. As soon as she was clear from sight, people started to pile on. First went Anna, who was helped up by Bates, and then went Baxter and Moseley.</p><p>“Daisy, take the bowl that she ate out of and put the rest of the poison in it to sit in the pantry,” Andy said, “Anyone asks, we’ll say it’s for rats.”</p><p>“Right.” She hurried off back inside. Richard got up onto the wagonette and offered his hand to Thomas to pull him up as well. He was the last of their group to join and looked forlornly down at Christopher who was the lone man on the ground.</p><p>He smiled up at Thomas, brilliant and breezy in the dark.</p><p>“Ah, don’t look so blue, doll face,” Christopher smoothed, “You’ll see me on Friday.”</p><p>“At China Blue?” He wondered.</p><p>“Exactly.” So it seemed that their reunion would be rather sweet.</p><p>Before God, and all their co-workers, Christopher took Thomas’ hand and pressed a loving kiss to the knuckles like he hadn’t just committed a murder.</p><p>“Until Friday,” He whispered.</p><p>“Be careful,” Richard said. “Griggs is a fat fuck.”</p><p>To this, he revealed a switchblade which flashed like silver in the light of their lamps.</p><p>“I know what I’m about,” he promised. “Goodnight, an’ good luck.”</p><p>And with that, he vanished into the dark. All it took was for him to step through the curtain of weeds and brambles that divided the back road from the house, and his slender form vanished amongst the briars. Thomas felt a sick sensation in his chest; it was anxiety.</p><p>“He’ll be alright,” Richard whispered in his ear, pulling him back so that he sat on the side of the wagonette with all the others. At his feet, he could feel O’Brien’s body still lukewarm. Their laps were hidden by blankets, each of them covering up the atrocity below.</p><p>Andy got on the front bench and pulled up the reigns. As Daisy re-appeared with her apron off and her coat on, she closed the back door and got on last so that their team was officially complete. The horses were unbothered by their little trip and began to walk with a smooth trot. As they pulled out of the servant’s area yard and around the side, Thomas was shocked to see a policeman walking up. He hailed for them to stop; he was a thin fellow with a thick red mustache.</p><p>“Woah!” He patted the muzzle of their horses fondly. “I didn’t know you lot were goin’ out. It’s dangerous, you need company.”</p><p>“We’ll be alright,” Bates said. “We’re all together, and we’re armed. She’s still in the house though, but she’s alone. She should be locked in her room… will you watch out for her? She might try and run away with all of us gone.”</p><p>“But where are you going to?” He wondered. “It’s late, nearly midnight. You lot ought to be catching up on your sleep.”</p><p>“We have pigs and they’re not fairing well in the late winter,” Daisy made up the lie on the spot. “But I’m scared to go alone, so I’ve asked for the others to go with me. Is that alright?”</p><p>“Well…” He casually patted the muzzle, unaware that a corpse was inches from him. “I don’t like it, but you are armed, and you are all together. I can’t ignore that either, and I can hardly abandon my post can I? I suppose it’ll be alright…” but he sounded none too sure. “Where’s Barrow and Ellis?” he asked.</p><p>They meekly raised their hands. The officer seemed soothed by this.</p><p>“Good, good,” he said. “If everyone else is out of the house, you need to be with them. I don’t trust her on her own with you two. Stay safe together, come home soon.”</p><p>He patted the side of their horse and left them for the back door of the abbey. His arrival was but seconds from their final departure. They’d timed everything perfectly, within an inch of failure. As he walked away, Thomas heard Baxter let out an audible breath. Andy slapped the reigns again, and they were off.</p><p>She wasn’t the only one relieved. Anna looked like she might faint.</p><p>“God that was awful,” She whispered.</p><p>With a body at his feet and murder officially on his rap sheet, Thomas shakily pulled out a cigarette from his pocket and lit it with his trusty lighter. Bates held out a silent hand; he offered a spare and lit it with the tip of his own.</p><p> </p><p>For a long while they were completely silent as Andy drove them to Fox Hollow Farm. This was, ironically, the same route they’d taken on that fated night so many months ago when Mason had died. He smoked quickly, desperate for a nicotine fix to calm his nerves. Across from him, Bates smoked slowly. He, unlike Thomas, wasn’t used to the burn in his lungs.</p><p>They reached Fox Hollow Farm around midnight; it was gloomy with a chilly mist hanging upon the ground and seemed like the perfect setting for a cold blooded murder. But there was nothing cold blooded about the way that everyone got off the wagonette to help Andy get the horse and cart through the field. Nothing apathetic or ugly at all about the way that Anna and Baxter remarked how beautiful Daisy’s flower fields were. As they came upon the pig farm, everyone fell silent to survey the sleeping animals.</p><p>The pigs were enormous, and content to lay upon one another amidst mounds of freshly strewn hay. Every so often, one of their ears would flap against their skin. At the sound of approaching footfalls, one or two of the pigs began to stir. When they woke up and saw their masters, a strange scurrying began as they each clambered onto their feet and keened for attention.</p><p>He’d never thought of pigs as loving animals before, but it would take a great deal of callous thinking to imagine that this lot had no cares for Andy and Daisy.</p><p>“Pigs, pigs, pigs!” Daisy spoke in a high-pitched voice better suited for a toddler. “Pigs, pigs, pigs!” She petted each of them as Andy hopped off the wagonette, scratching their ears and rubbing their chins. They snorted and swayed, very curious as to what was going on so late in the evening. At the far back, an enormous hog walked forward with tusks the size of a grown man’s arm.</p><p>“Look at the size of that one!” Moseley declared, pointing as he came forward.</p><p>“Honest, he won’t attack,” Andy promised. He dropped the back gate of the wagonette, helping the others off and drug the blanket off of O’Brien’s lifeless body. “That’s just Jude. He’s harmless.”</p><p>“Oh, that’s a word for him,” Thomas scoffed. Jude, to his credit, ambled peacefully to the front and allowed Daisy to rub him gently upon the neck and chin.</p><p>Thomas came around to the back of the wagonette; Richard, Andy, and Moseley each took an edge of O’Brien, lifting her from the wagonette and down to the ground. Andy lifted her body over his shoulder; the movement caused something shiny to fall from her pocket onto the ground but Thomas was the only one to spot it.</p><p>As Andy took her into the hog’s pen, Thomas stooped over and plucked up a small silver key. It looked like it might go to a small chest. Unsure of what it might be for, he pocketed it.</p><p>With a rather unseemly movement, Andy dropped O’Brien onto the dirt of the pig’s pen and immediately clambered out. This seemed slightly dramatic until Thomas watched the pigs begin to snuffle and tussle with O’Brien. They were overly curious, a bit like children, and it was clear that Andy had leapt away to avoid getting caught in the tussle.</p><p>“Should we… bury her or something?” Daisy wondered.</p><p>“No, let the pigs do what they want,” Andy urged. “Mr. Mason told me that they can eat a body whole in five hours… I dunno if we should wait here to see if that’s true.”</p><p>“There’s no way I’m waiting out here with Coyle on the loose,” Anna warned.</p><p>“I’ll stay,” Andy said. “And tomorrow I’ll ring for someone to come pick me up.”</p><p>“That’s too dangerous,” Thomas admonished. “There are murderous crawling all over the woods, and a there’s a body in your pig pen. If a copper comes by here, you’re finished. You know that?”</p><p>“I’m a grown man, Mr. Barrow,” Andy said, and as if to prove the point he drew himself up to his fullest height, “And I know what I’m about. I’m not afraid. This is my home… and I’m going to defend it.”</p><p>Where Thomas wanted to tell Andy that he was a solid class idiot, Daisy swooned. Before God and everyone she stood on tip toe to kiss her husband full upon the mouth. He wanted to wretch.</p><p>“I love you, y’know that?” Daisy whispered. “You’re my hero, Andy.”</p><p>Andy looked ready to shoot to the moon from pure steam alone.</p><p>This romantic moment was broken up by a creepy crunching noise. Everyone looked around and saw Jude the boar eating O’Brien’s foot.</p><p>The result was instantaneous, with everyone hassling away.</p><p>“Christ, I’ve gone off pork for life,” Moseley was going green.</p><p>“Oh, I didn’t need to see that.”</p><p>“I might spew,” Richard grumbled. They all got back on the wagonette, save for Andy. He waved them off, with Daisy blowing kisses all the while.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>He’d done this a few times now, not that it got any easier.</p><p>Christopher waited in the shadows of the side yard, hiding alongside a gutter that was the size of a small horse. A big house required big upkeep; the abbey was a monster. His target kept ambling about, making this hit a rather difficult one. Every so often he’d stop to sigh and stare up at the sky before checking his watch and continuing to pace again.</p><p>Christopher checked his wristwatch to just barely see that it was crawling on 12:30 in the morning.</p><p>He needed to make his move now, before the servant’s got back. No one could claim it was someone in the house if everyone had been seen leaving.</p><p>Silently, Christopher undid his pen knife and flipped it in his hand to support it with the meat of his palm. He waited until Griggs had his back turned, ambling slowly up the Abbey’s eastern wall. He would have to be incredibly quick to make this work.</p><p>But his emotional ammo was strong enough to see him through; the sight of Thomas petrified being taken away in handcuffs from Turpins.</p><p>He’d been unable to defend him then, but he most certainly could defend him now.</p><p>Grigg’s stopped at the far edge of the eastern lawn and unzipped his trousers to urinate on the side of the house.</p><p>It was the only chance he was ever going to get.</p><p>Christopher darted forward, sneaking silently along the finely groomed grass.</p><p>Griggs paused, seeming to sense he was not alone. He even brought one hand to his hip, where his pistol lay sheathed. </p><p>It wouldn’t be enough to save him from Christopher. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>The ride back was quiet. Blankets were still strewn over their lap; it was chilly even on the cusp of Spring. Baxter yawned once or twice, resting her head on Moseley’s shoulder. Without Andy to drive the wagonette, the task was left up to Thomas. He wasn’t nearly as efficient at the reigns as Andy, but he got the job done. By the time that Downton Abbey came back into view, it was close to one in the morning. They were greeted by the sight of a policeman at the front gate; he did not look happy.</p><p> </p><p>“Woah there!” He urged, holding up a hand. Thomas paused with the reigns, his heart hammering in his ribs. He noted it was the same policeman from before. “What happened to your man?”</p><p>“He stayed behind to take care of the pigs,” Daisy explained. “He’ll ring in the morning for us to pick him up.”</p><p>“Ah… I don’t like him being alone,” the policeman fretted, “Perhaps I’ll give him a lift tomorrow. I just don’t like the idea of you lot walking around without force. And speaking of force… I hope you won’t be too hard on your hall boy.”</p><p>“My hall boy?” Thomas repeated, curious.</p><p>“He’s just gotten back with Willas… and…. Well….” The man gave a wobbly hand in silent gesture. So clearly poor Albert had gotten three sheets to the wind.</p><p>“Oh goody,” he muttered, looking over his shoulder at Bates who tutted.</p><p>“Do you mind if I ride up with you?” the policeman asked. “It’s time for a shift change and I don’t want to walk.”</p><p>“Hop on,” Anna offered, patting to the back of the wagonette. He clambered up and Thomas slapped the reigns.</p><p> </p><p>“So, what’s wrong with your pigs?” The policeman asked Daisy.</p><p>“Oh, they don’t take to the weather well,” She lied. “It’s always like this when the seasons start to change. We can’t afford to lose them. We rely on their meat for the house, and their sales keep the farm going.”</p><p>“That must be a lot,” he sympathized. “To work full time at the big ‘ouse and to have a farm to run. I’d feel overwhelmed.”</p><p>“My ‘usband helps,” Daisy agreed. “And we have a few farm hands who pitch in, but it is a lot… I’m starting to think I might pitch it in and work on the farm full time.”</p><p>“Oh thanks,” Thomas complained. “I’ll put an advert out, shall I?”</p><p>“As if you need two cooks now adays, what with half the house empty,” she sighed.</p><p>“Well, I think you should do it,” Richard piped up from the back of the wagonette.</p><p>“Bloody traitor!” Thomas scoffed, looking over his shoulder. Richard gave him a saucy wink.</p><p>A soft, shrill whistle began to fill the air. Somewhere out in the distance, he could hear the sound of baying dogs.</p><p>“Christ whose up now?” Bates complained. “We’ll never get to sleep at this rate.”</p><p>“I’m about ready to fall over,” Baxter lamented.</p><p>“Wait,” The policeman said. “Stop the cart. Stop the cart-!”</p><p>Thomas jerked on the reigns, so that they stopped in the middle of the driveway halfway back to the house. Everyone was on tenterhooks as the policeman listened, brow furrowed.</p><p>Far off in the distance, the whistles were getting louder; now that Thomas wasn’t driving, he could pinpoint them exactly as police whistles. There was shouting, and strange bobbing lights that Thomas realized were torches bobbing in the hands of running men.</p><p>“… Something’s happened,” Anna whispered, grave.</p><p>“Take me up there!” The policeman barked.</p><p>“Hya-!” Thomas slapped the reigns harder than before. The horses skittered, rumbling up the drive at a much faster pace. As they reached the front, it was to the sight of a policeman running around the far edge of the house.</p><p>“John!” the policeman cried out. “John! It’s Griggs!”</p><p>“What about him?” The policeman clambered off the back of the wagonette. “What’s happened? What did he do?”</p><p>“He’s missing!” the new policeman declared, “An we had that hall boy go upstairs and check on O’Brien- she’s not there either!”</p><p>“What?!” he thundered. He whipped around, looking at the rest of them. “Christ, you lot get in the house now!”</p><p>“She could be anywhere, Willas is beside himself!” the other policeman was babbling, frantic. “Griggs has been in a sour mood for days, he thinks they might even have schemed together-“</p><p>“He’d never do a thing like that; she’s gone and done something to him! She took her chance and she bolted; who was at the back door?!”</p><p>“That was me- she didn’t come out that way-!” They were now arguing with each other, running side by side as they headed around the back. The servants watched them go, each of them rooted stiff with fear.  </p><p> </p><p>Things had officially been taken out of their control.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I understand if you don't like the poisoning that's happened, or the fact that these characters were co-conspirators in a murder. I'm not interested in being flamed, so if you don't like it simply stop reading. It's as simple as that.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. China Blue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Chaytor grows more suspicious of our favorite pair, but neither are eager to tangle with him when they can instead tangle with Christopher in York. It all culminates in a showdown at China Blue.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter contains <b> graphic depictions of M/M/M sex</b> so please be aware of that. I apologize for not updating sooner but sometimes life hits you in waves and you have to deal with it. </p><p>Also can I just say that after having to tangle with people on Reddit regarding Thomas, this fandom is full of jerks? Like they flat out consider Thomas a villain with 0 redeeming qualities, and are baffled by the concept that some people see him as more than a cartoonish camp villain. Also the way they adore William and the Bates. We have a very specific issue of the DA fandom being trash when it comes to people who do not lick Robert Crawley's boots.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the interrogation chamber of the Downton Village Police Station, very little could be heard. Every so often, you heard the echo of someone far off slamming the cell door of a local moron who’d gotten nicked, or the <em>tap tap</em> of a policeman’s shoes on cold cobblestone floors. The roof, however, was thinning and in need of repair so you could hear rain relatively well.</p><p>It was beginning to rain, and Thomas had to remark at how peaceful it was. How utterly soothing.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Across the table from him, Chaytor looked like a sour old rooster. Glaring at him through bleary, bloodshot eyes, he seemed to be wondering just what kind of bad karma he’d reaped after being woken in the dead of night with news that O’Brien was gone and so was Briggs.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s raining,” Thomas mused aloud. Between the pair of them, two cigarettes shared a communal ash tray that bore the markings of the annual Downton Village cricket match. It had been a year when the town had won, or so the tray declared.</p><p>“Worried about the pigs?” Chaytor asked; there was a slight croak in his voice from sleep.</p><p> </p><p>When the police had come rolling through Downton, kicking open doors and searching high and low, it had all become such a blur that Thomas hadn’t had much time to register individual events. He knew at some point the family had been woken and made to leave for Lord Merton’s estate; Downton was no longer safe until it could be searched inside and out for both Briggs and O’Brien. It was a massive haul out, with children carried in their parents’ arms and even the family dog getting a lift over. Certain servants had been asked by the police to go and give testimony. In particular, Chaytor had come bowling over in a trench coat and pajamas, demanding both Richard and Thomas come to the police station for safety along with Baxter and Moseley.</p><p>The rest of the staff were made to go to Lord Merton’s as well. No one could travel alone, Chaytor had declared. No one was safe until an answer was found.</p><p>Now, sitting across from Chaytor and smoking a cigarette, he realized that at the time, every police officer had had their guns drawn. For some reason, he hadn’t noticed before.</p><p>“You lied to me,” Chaytor declared. It was the first time they’d spoken to one another face to face since his grievous fall out via Briggs and O’Brien. It was difficult to know what lie Chaytor was referring to, so Thomas kept quiet and waited. “I asked you flat out and you lied to me. To my face.” He paused, tapping his cigarette into the ashtray. “Why would you do a thing like that? Was it because O’Brien had threatened to come to us and tell us that you were gay?”</p><p>“Yes,” Thomas supposed it was the correct answer to any lie he’d told. All his fears seemed to wind up in similar baskets like dysfunctional chicken eggs.</p><p>“And so you were scared to tell me the truth about O’Brien being there the night Coyle tried to kill you. Because you thought I would arrest you for being gay.”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Mm…” Chaytor took a long drag, exhaling plumes of smoke from his nostrils like an irritable dragon.</p><p>“And I didn’t lie,” Now knowing full well which ‘lie’ they were speaking about. This one was the lie he’d told while laying in a hospital bed; the lie which had kept Chaytor from knowing that O’Brien had been in the cave the night of their famous plunge. “I said ‘I cannot say’. And I couldn’t say, could I? Because if I had said the full truth, you would have arrested me in that bed.”</p><p>“Would I?” Chaytor challenged.</p><p>“You’re the DSO.”</p><p>“I could be gay.”</p><p>“No, you couldn’t.”</p><p>“And why would you say that?”</p><p>He pointed to Chaytor’s ring finger, which was visible as he smoked his cigarette. There, in the dulled light of an ancient oil lamp, shone Chaytor’s wedding ring.</p><p>Chaytor looked down at it and fiddled with it. He used his thumb rotating the ring back and forth so that it pivoted on his flesh.</p><p>“I see,” Chaytor said. “But I could be hiding the truth. Plenty of men like you get married to women that are only their friends. Beards, or so I’m told they’re called.”</p><p>Ignoring the vulgar slang, Thomas kept to the topic at hand. “I wasn’t willing to take that chance, and if you really were a gay man you’d completely understand.”</p><p>“I’m a straight man, and still I understand,” He replied. He tapped his cigarette out, reaching the end of his tobacco line.</p><p>“Tell me the whole truth,” He laced his fingers upon the table, eyes burning into Thomas’ own. He felt like a lab animal, pinned down with needles, and being poked by some over eager student. “The full, ugly, unadulterated truth. Is O’Brien in league with Coyle?”</p><p>“Yes.” He decided in that moment he would hide absolutely nothing, so far as he could help it. The more truths he told, the more Chaytor would be willing to believe him when he lied about Christopher and O’Brien’s murder.</p><p> </p><p>“When did you discover this?”</p><p>“Months ago.”</p><p>“How?”</p><p>“A friend told me.”</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>“I cannot s-“</p><p>Chaytor cut him off with a finger pointed in warning.</p><p>“I haven’t arrested you yet… faggot,” he whispered the word like one might a prayer. In a way, this was a prayer. A prayer that Thomas would talk. You could tell when you looked at men if they were the sort who might be inclined to say a word like ‘faggot’ and mean it. Chaytor wasn’t one of those men. He wasn’t cursing his existence; he was reminding him…</p><p>Reminding him that things could go very bad, very quickly.</p><p>“A man like me.” Thomas explained. “A man whose already been arrested because he’s like me.”</p><p>Chaytor licked his lips; they probably tasted a bit like cigarettes.</p><p>“A whiskey runner, perhaps?” Chaytor murmured. In that moment, Thomas knew that he already knew. That he was putting together the pieces faster than Thomas could lay them out on the table. It was yet another reminder of how powerful Chaytor was. To climb to the top of the ladder in the world of police, you had to be able to run with the wolves.</p><p>Thomas said nothing, but it was just as damning as if he’d run his mouth.</p><p>“Aha….” And for some reason, Chaytor started laughing. He shook his head, tutting. “Christopher… Oh, Christopher Webster. A dangerous individual.”</p><p>“Maybe to some,” he refused to step into the narrative that Christopher was evil any longer. He could no more deny his feelings for him than he could for Richard. This position they were in was peculiar, but the only way it was going to work between the three of them was if they were honest and open with each other.</p><p>He didn’t care how that made him look in front of Chaytor.</p><p>“He’s killed seven policemen,” Chaytor snapped.</p><p>“Men like Griggs,” he wouldn’t be moved to sympathy, “Men who’d destroyed people like me without even thinking. Men who’d delight in watching us die.”</p><p>“Is that an excuse to murder?” Chaytor asked.</p><p>“To a man like me? Yes.”</p><p>Chaytor was silent for a moment, considering what Thomas had just said. Maybe he’d held him to a different standard. Maybe he was piecing those puzzles together again.</p><p>“Did you kill Griggs?” Chaytor asked.</p><p>“No,” Thomas said. “Dr. Clarkson gave me a sedative. I was out of it all day yesterday, and I have plenty of witnesses who can back me up on that.”</p><p>“Did Webster kill Griggs?” Chaytor asked.</p><p>“I don’t know,” he lied. “For all I know he’s out skipping around in the woods shagging the local barmaid. Who says he’s even dead to begin with? But if he did die, god I hope it was painful.”</p><p>“Careful,” Chaytor warned.</p><p>“No, I don’t think I will be.” Thomas continued to smoke, well aware of how petty he sounded.</p><p>For a moment, the pair of them were silent again. Thomas smoked, Chaytor mused, and the rain just kept falling.</p><p>“… What state is this roof in?” He asked. “It’s so thin I can hear the rain.”</p><p>“Was she there that night?” Chaytor asked. “The night you were in the cave?”</p><p>“Yes,” He said. “It was her plan to kill me. To get me out of the way.”</p><p>“I see,” Chaytor was satisfied with this, at least. “I’m going to want to get a statement from you, on all of this. And I’m going to want you to stand trial when we take her to court. When we find her that is.” He nodded, knowing full well this would never happen. There would never be a court date because O’Brien was dead.</p><p>“Where’s Webster?” Chaytor asked.</p><p>“I don’t know-“</p><p>“Liar,” he wouldn’t be fobbed off with bullshit.</p><p>“He’s not in Downton anymore,” he grumbled. He refused to give anything else away.</p><p>“Have you known where he was this whole time?” Chaytor drawled the word ‘whole’ so that it stretched far too long.</p><p>Thomas said nothing and continued to smoke.</p><p>Chaytor tutted, amazed at his audacity. Once or twice, his thin lips curled into a sneer, drawn tight over teeth.</p><p>“I could have you arrested for that,” he declared.</p><p>“You could arrest me for breathing,” He sneered. “Chris was never with Coyle. He was always working against him, from the inside. Trying to stop him. Trying to save me. He paid the price for it. It wasn’t Coyle that stabbed O’Brien that night. It was Christopher. Coyle tortured him, tortured all of us really, but Chris was in that pit with me and Baxter. You can’t tarnish him in my eyes, or scare me, so stop trying.”</p><p>Chaytor was mildly impressed. He carefully drew out another cigarette and lit it against the tip of Thomas’ own.</p><p>“I see…” He sounded curious. “A man on the inside. So what happened to Christopher the night you were abducted?”</p><p>“He jumped over the edge with us. We woke and huddled in that shack together just like I told you. We decided to part ways after that-“</p><p>“Are you lying again?” Chaytor drawled.</p><p>“Where the fuck would I have hidden him in the house, John?” His anger was a thin veil over the truth. That Christopher had been hiding in the basement of Downton Abbey for over a week. “It’s crawling with servants, and cops.”</p><p>“The barn, the bike shed… the basement-“</p><p>“The barn is constantly being used by the groundskeepers and the groomsmen. The bike shed is abysmally small and is always being gone through by Albert or Andy. The basement is where we store the wine, and everyday Mr. Carson goes down there to get a bottle to decant for the family’s supper. Not to mention when Andy has to go down to fetch beer or spirits. There is nowhere in the house, and I do mean nowhere, that he could have hidden. And if you don’t believe me, go an’ fuckin’ look yourself.”</p><p>“You’re angry,” Chaytor mused. “Why are you angry at me?”</p><p>“Because cops always try to give men like me a bad name,” he said. “And I’m sick of it.”</p><p>“You are not the same as Christopher Webster.” Chaytor paused to tap some ash; they’d have to clear out the tray soon. “You’re not a murderer.”</p><p>Little did Chaytor know that actually, he was one in the same.</p><p>When Thomas did not reply, Chaytor carried on, “So where did Christopher go on that fateful night?”</p><p>“The woods,” Thomas decided to keep the lie going, and give as much detail as possible lest it fall flat. “And that’s all I’ll say, because that’s all I know. He told me he was leaving.”</p><p>“Leaving for where?”</p><p>“He wouldn’t say,” Thomas said. “He said he had some other business to sort out. Something to do with Coyle; I think he wanted revenge, and he was under the impression that the more he told me the more danger he’d put me in. And that’s all I know, and that’s’ all you’re getting out of me edge wise, so quite hammering about Chris.”</p><p>Chaytor brought his cigarette up to his mouth but did not smoke. Instead he just stared, musing over all this interesting information. Perhaps he was wondering how much of it was lies and how much of it was truth.</p><p>“… You’re friendly with him,” Chaytor said. “But you’re romantically involved with Ellis. So what are you two?”</p><p>“… He is my companion, and he understands me,” Thomas declared, with no small amount of pride. “And he is not a criminal to me no matter what crime he commits. I believe in the goodness of his heart, and you can’t make me stop.”</p><p>“Ahh….” He sounded mildly disappointed at this. “I’ve heard that kind of line a lot,” he coughed a bit, throat dry from smoke and lack of sleep. “Plenty of people make the same mistake when a loved one commits a crime. Not many have shot seven officers though.”</p><p>Thomas crossed his arms over his chest, moody. “That’s all I’m saying about Christopher. You hear me? Not a damn word more.”</p><p>“Alright… alright…” He murmured, like he was soothing a nervous beast instead of talking to a sentient human. “But we’re not finished, you and I. Not by a long shot. Tell me everything that happened yesterday. Start from when you woke up.”</p><p>So now it seemed they’d moved onto the subject of O’Brien’s unexpected ‘departure’ and Grigg’s ‘disappearance’. The problem was, Thomas didn’t know what anyone else had said… a few servants had already been interviewed. The best thing to do, he decided, was to stay as close to the truth as possible to avoid having to remember too many alternative facts.</p><p>“I woke up… felt like hell. It was late, normally I get woken up by my hall boy but I think after the other day they all thought I was touched in the head so they left me alone. Had a small spot of breakfast, not much. Carson was in charge, so I was given leave to do as I please. I didn’t want to see anyone, so I hid in the office. I wasn’t feeling back to myself after the sedative. I didn’t serve.”</p><p>“Did you see O’Brien?” Chaytor pulled out a wire bound notebook that looked like it had seen better days. Clearly some details of Thomas’ story were of interest to him.</p><p>“No, she was locked in her room. She wasn’t allowed to go out.”</p><p>“Anything happen that day that strike you as odd?”</p><p>“Nothing,” He said, which was a lie. It had been remarkable to find out about the chambers beneath the abbey, but to admit this would be to confess to Christopher’s whereabouts.</p><p>“Did you eat dinner with the staff?”</p><p>“Yes,” Thomas said. His throat was starting to clench up from stress. “We had chicken and dumplings.”</p><p>“And did O’Brien eat with you?”</p><p>“No, Daisy had a tray brought up to her room. She wasn’t allowed to eat with the rest of us,” Now they were fully inside the territory of a lie.</p><p>“What happened then?” Chaytor asked.</p><p>“Daisy said her pigs weren’t feeling well,” Thomas said. “And she wanted to go check on them, given how the weather is turning warmer. I didn’t know this but apparently pigs can get sick just like humans can. But she was scared to go on her own, and who could blame her? So everyone started volunteering, and eventually we all decided to go to get some fresh air. We’d been cooped up in the house with a maniac and we were sick to death of it.”</p><p>“So before you left, did you see anything odd? Hear anything odd?” Chaytor gestured aimlessly with a hand. “You’re the butler, a well-seasoned servant in that house. You’d know if something was off.”</p><p>“I didn’t hear or see anything queer, but to be fair I also was still feeling a bit off,” Thomas said. “Even now, I’m a little out of my head. The others would be better to ask that question to. Mrs. Patmore was right across the hall from her-“</p><p>“Dead asleep, didn’t hear a thing,” Chaytor said. Then, he made a funny face, “Rather peculiar, her being tired… and Mr. Carson, and Mrs. Hughes.”</p><p>“Is it though?” Now he was having to clean up after other people’s messes. Christ, he wanted to strangle them all for drugging the others without telling him first! “They’re older than you think, and they work really difficult jobs. Especially Mrs. Patmore. She has to cook for everyone and sometimes it gets to her. We don’t talk about it because she panics if we do. So if she says ‘I’m tired I want to go up early’, we all just accept it and don’t press her for details.”</p><p>“Why does she panic?” Chaytor asked. This seemed to have actually thrown him, like he wasn’t expecting such a small detail and it had piqued his curiosity.</p><p>“Well she’s scared she’ll get booted,” Thomas explained. “She needs the income, hell we all do, so we all work ourselves to death. Several years ago, she nearly lost her job because she developed cataracts. Lord Grantham paid for the surgery to have them removed, but if he hadn’t done it that would have been it for her career. A blind cook? It just couldn’t have been done. And then where would she be? How would she have made money? She could have ended up on the streets. That really rattled her. Ever since then, she’s always been prone to panic if she starts feeling unwell. Cataracts you can fix with a surgery, but what if next time it’s something you can’t repair?”</p><p>Despite the fact that Chaytor had been curious at first, the more Thomas had talked the sourer he’d grown. Something in the way that Thomas had spoken seemed to tip Chaytor off that he knew more than he was letting on. Maybe he was too nervous; maybe there was a tremor in his voice. Maybe Chaytor could simply see it on his face after years of intense police work with some of the worst criminals in England.</p><p>“… I’m going to ask you this flat out,” Chaytor began, his voice deadly calm. “And you’re going to tell me the truth. And I’ll know if you lie, so don’t even bother. You have a tell that’s very obvious. Do you know where O’Brien is?”</p><p>The idea that he had a tell made a cold bead of sweat trickle down the back of his neck. A second past, and then another, and Thomas realized he was taking far too much time to answer.</p><p>“I have an idea,” He said.</p><p>“Tell me.”</p><p>“I think she’s run for her life, and is probably going to end up dead in a ditch somewhere. I think Coyle has no use for her anymore, and she knows she’s about to be cut short. That she’s become a weak link.”</p><p>“Did Christopher kill her for you?” Chaytor asked.</p><p>“I didn’t ask him to.”</p><p>Chaytor shifted in his seat, tilting his head a bit.</p><p>“Did you kill her, Thomas?” Chaytor asked, calmly.</p><p>Fearful of what his tell might be, Thomas evaded the question as best he could: “I certainly had good reason to.”</p><p>“That wasn’t a no.”</p><p>“It wasn’t a yes, either,” he cut in. The pair of them were in a peculiar standoff, lacking guns but still just as lethal. He refused to budge an inch, and Chaytor would not back down; an unstoppable force had met an immovable object.</p><p>“…Alright,” Chaytor finally conceded. But there was something forced in his smile, something unnervingly calm that hadn’t been there before their conversation had started. “That’s all the questions I have for now.”</p><p>“Fine.” He got up, his bones aching from sitting in the chair for so long. He wanted to flee from this place and find Richard as fast as he could. Yet as he reached the door and touched the handle, he was reproached by Chaytor’s final warning.</p><p>“Oh and Thomas?”</p><p>He turned, and found Chaytor unmoved from his spot. That queer calm was still wrapped around him like a shroud.</p><p>“When you see Christopher again, as I know you will, you tell him that I’m looking for him… and that I will find him in the end.”</p><p>Thomas didn’t quite know what to say to that.</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>Returning to Downton Abbey felt akin to a walk of shame. The road was heavy beneath his feet, snow and rain now mixing to form an ugly sleet that smudged everything into shades of brown. It felt impossible, that they had murdered someone the night before. He kept expecting to see O’Brien’s ghost leap out at him from every shadow. Would he be dragged down to hell tonight as he slept?</p><p>The more he walked, the more anxious he became; a passing farmer was kind enough to offer him a lift on the back of a wagon full of rotten hay. It smelt horrible; he had to wonder where it was going and who would even want it anymore.</p><p>The sight of Downton, hiding in the mists of low hanging clouds, made him feel a bit like a child running home to his mother. He desperately wanted comfort. To know that he was not past saving and that the world wasn’t all bleak.</p><p>The police were roaming the hillside. You could see them every so often, a line of weaving black dots. Dogs were baying at their heels, searching the woods for any signs of O’Brien or Griggs. They would find neither.</p><p>As Thomas headed through the area door, he found it occupied by three policemen who were whispering to themselves. They seemed to be making bets and swapping theories; when they spotted him they grew tense.</p><p>“Back, Barrow?” One said. “Didn’t take any detours, did you?”</p><p>“No,” Thomas pushed past the lot of them, heading through the door. Something about their presence put him immediately on edge. It was like they could sniff out any hint of sin.</p><p>There were so many things which kept hitting him at odd moments. Chris was no longer in the basement; that one particular spot on the floor was where O’Brien was last night. What about the bowl that had had arsenic in it? What about the bottle? What about the spoon that had stirred it in?</p><p>He wanted Richard, desperately. He wanted everything to be normal again; normal and calm.</p><p> </p><p>Richard was not downstairs, nor was he in the attics. It seemed that despite the absolute terror which was riveting the land, Lord Grantham’s day suits still needed to be ironed. As such, Richard was in his dressing room, tending to certain pieces which needed to be laced in wax papers. Bursting through the door probably did very little to maintain the aura of innocence, but it was instinctual.</p><p>He did not want to pretend; he wanted to be consoled.</p><p>Richard was tired; he’d gotten less than two hours of sleep, what with interrogation and having to return to Downton on foot. But on instinct, he at once comforted Thomas when he came to call.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey—hey—” He kept his head buried against Richard’s temple, just wanting to take a moment to breath in the sweet scent of his sweat and cologne. “What happened-?” Richard forcibly pulled him back, cupping the nape of his neck and squeezing it methodically.</p><p>“Chaytor,” The mere name made him feel sick to his stomach. “I think he’s getting close to the truth about Christopher; as far as O’Brien goes, I don’t think he knows yet…. God it makes me sick.”</p><p>“Shh-“ and he pressed the softest of kisses to Thomas’ brow.</p><p>“Anything?” he asked. “Anything about Griggs?”</p><p>“No.” Richard said. “No one can find him. They’ve been going back and forth all day. It’s like he’s vanished. They’ve combed the house all over; not a sight of either of them. Chris knows his stuff.”</p><p>“Where do you think he’s gone?”</p><p>“Dunno,” It was hard to imagine how much ground Chris could have covered in one night. “I don’t know anything anymore.”</p><p>“What did Chaytor say to you?”</p><p>“About the same thing,” Richard let go of him, and returned to Lord Grantham’s suits to put the iron back on the fire. It had gotten cold in his absence. “Kept going on about how weird it was that everyone was sleepy-“</p><p>“I knew that was a bad idea!” And he was off and running again, about to tear out his hair from anxiety. He paced back and forth, biting at a fingernail momentarily. “Oh god, why did they do it? If I’d known I would have stopped them-“</p><p>“Hey…hey-!” And he was back again, letting go of the iron to tend to him once more. He pressed their temples together, giving Thomas a moment to breath. “It’s going to be okay, love. Just stay in here with me for the mo…. No one will care, will they? Carson’s still charge, and no one wants to see me with my face done in from Griggs.”</p><p>He sat down upon the bed and leaned heavily against one of the four posters. Richard returned to ironing after a moment, every so often glancing over at Thomas.</p><p>He was eager to shake off the nervous feel that had soaked into the room. They’d been living with a guillotine over their heads for the past few weeks and it was becoming exhausting.</p><p>“Change of subject, something cheerful!” Richard worked as he spoke, ironing back and forth in a methodical dance. “I’ve called and booked us a room at China Blue for Friday night. We’ll leave here around noon, and then we’ll go on a drive to York. We’ll have a small meal, and then go to China Blue.”</p><p>“And Christopher?” He mumbled.</p><p>“He’ll be there on Friday. I suppose he’ll just…” Richard dwindled off, trying to muse on the genius of Christopher Webster. “Well, I suppose he’ll just have to wait and see us come in. God only knows… but it’s got me thinking about a few things; we might as well talk about them now.”</p><p>“Oh Richard…” He laid back, collapsing onto the bed to allow himself to close his eyes. He wished he could go to sleep now; he’d not been able to relax in nearly twenty-four hours. “Please… nothing too intense. I can’t handle it.”</p><p>“Nothing bad, love. But we do have to talk about it before Friday evening,” he said. “I’m a man of certain persuasions, you know that. But what about you? Is there anything you <em>don’t </em>like?”</p><p>Well, that was a rather peculiar question. So peculiar, in fact, that it helped him to stop feeling so anxious if only to make him think.</p><p>No one had ever asked him before, what it was that he <em>didn’t </em>like. He supposed there were a few things that went without saying. He didn’t much go in for the dirtier side of the ugliest kinks.</p><p>“I mean… I don’t want to get pissed on,” He said. Over in the corner, Richard barely withheld a snort of laughter.</p><p>“I mean…” it was taking him a moment to recover from laughter. “I mean… what bout a blindfold.”</p><p>“Oh.” Well that was different. He tried to imagine a scenario in which he was blindfolded during sex. It didn’t feel so awful. “I mean… I don’t think I’d mind that.”</p><p>Richard finished with Lord Grantham’s tan day suit and hung it to cool. He sat alongside him, and casually plucked up Thomas’ wounded hand to lay it upon his lap. “And what about this?” he tapped the ancient leather wrap, his only reminder of the great war. “Can I take it off?”</p><p>“No…” That, to him, was a terrible idea. His hand looked like a Jules Vern experiment, and it ached in the cold air. He didn’t want Richard to be making love to him and be turned off by his warped hand. “Leave my hand please.”</p><p>“Alright, we won’t touch it.” And just like that, it was put to bed. But with the end of one conversation, Thomas’ anxiety came back. Richard touched his chin, forcing Thomas to look at him.</p><p>“Look at me. All will be well.” He urged.</p><p>“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m just worried.”</p><p>“I know you are. Come here.” Richard patted the bed beside him. Thomas sat up, bones aching; shuffling over was an undignified affair, resulting in his trouser leg becoming pinched.</p><p>“Come here and let me love you-“ Richard was unwilling to let a good thing slide, particularly after such a terrible night and morning. He pulled Thomas bodily into his lap, as if he were a toddler and not a fully grown man. He kissed him, and for a moment Thomas allowed himself to soak in that kiss, to simply imagine it was all that existed in the world and nothing more.</p><p>They kissed once, twice, three times. On the fourth, they paused, their noses touching.</p><p>“You were so brave last night,” he whispered. “So brave, an’ so smart.” Richard kissed him again, “How much do I love you, my darling.”</p><p>“Oh Richard…” He clung to him as tightly as he dared, fearful of the future. “Why can’t they just let us be?”</p><p>“…. I don’t fucking know,” He admitted. “I just don’t fucking know.”</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>There was a period of panic that you went through immediately after doing a wrong; a sort of heavy inhale where you waited to see if you would get caught or not. It was in this undying tension that Thomas lived for the next three days.</p><p>Despite the fact that Downton police combed the area top to bottom, left to right, back to front, they found no hide or hair of either O’Brien or Griggs. Things were coming out in the wash, such as the fact that Griggs had taken money from quite a lot of people to pay both gambling debts and installments to his mistress to keep her quiet. Grigg’s wife, a humble and mousy woman whom he’d run roughshod over, was poured in with so much sympathy that she might have drowned in it. Overnight, her husband’s upstanding reputation had promptly sailed out the window along with his salary. Mrs. Patmore even baked her a sponge cake, and Lady Grantham sent her a small sum to help her find her way.</p><p>Thomas watched her beg for information on her abusive husband and felt his gut twist like someone had plunged a knife into it. It was the worst he’d ever felt, although there might have been a slight overlay of pain from residual wounds with Coyle.</p><p>There was no word from Christopher, no hint of his whereabouts or whether or not he’d made it out of Downton okay. The only consolation was that he had not been caught, and that Chaytor could find no more evidence linking him to Thomas. Those that knew were the same people that had skin in the game. None of the staff talked, so Chaytor couldn’t gain a foothold below stairs. It had served to make him surly and bitter… but Thomas did not interact with him, so it did not matter.</p><p>The police presence around Downton began to dwindle till only one man stayed during the day. More often than not, it was Carson’s old friend Willas. After protecting Thomas and saving him from jail, he’d earned a reputation below stairs as being a man that someone could trust. He often found biscuits curtesy of Daisy, or a quick shoeshine by Albert. One night, Anna mended a collar for him, so it was easy to see why Willas was sticking around. They were essentially a bed and breakfast for which he never had to pay. At some point, they were going to end up doing his washing, but no one minded. Willas was warm and gentle, and he had a way of helping people to feel more at ease around the police.</p><p>That was…. Save for Thomas.</p><p>Thomas wanted nothing to do with Willas, to the point where he physically avoided him at all costs. He did not want to talk to police, he did not want to look at police. He did not want to be within a thousand miles of someone who did. He simply wanted to be allowed to live his own life with Richard and Christopher… and so long as a policeman was around that was never going to happen.</p><p> </p><p>Friday came, and found Thomas ribs feeling slightly on the mend. It wouldn’t do to go throwing himself over waterfalls anytime soon, but he could at least take a deep breath again without feeling like he was going fall in a lava pit and die. He washed with care, for the first time in a long time thinking about his naked body and how it would perform under pressure.</p><p>There were a few things that he did differently, which couldn’t be admitted to in polite company. The sort of things every homosexual man understood needed to be done but never spoke about. Another task he completed, though not entirely necessary, was to shave his legs, belly, and arms. Hair wasn’t peculiar on a man, indeed it was something which Thomas enjoyed quite a lot, but for his own personal body he felt it essential to look his best.</p><p>One thing was for certain… he wasn’t eighteen anymore.</p><p>He dressed in a day suit of gray, and headed downstairs to find Richard waiting for him with a small hand valise. It was the sort of thing men might put their kit in, rather than their clothes. He had to wonder what on earth was inside.</p><p>The others were hard at work. Albert was shining shoes, Andy was polishing silver, Daisy was making a pavlova for the upstairs tea, and Mrs. Patmore was washing a knife that looked capable of decapitating a rampaging bull.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, you’re going?” Mrs. Patmore wiped her hands free of suds.</p><p>“Yep,” Richard said.</p><p>“And you’ll remember my basket?” She asked.</p><p>“Yorkshire Delight, I’ll get it for you,” He promised.</p><p>“Good!” Content, she returned to overseeing Gertie’s attempt at a pavlova’s inner ring. After years of work, Daisy didn’t need to be monitored, and could even make figurines out of the merengue. “And don’t forget to buy him something nice.”</p><p>“Make me sound like a girl,” Thomas muttered. “Maybe I want to buy something for him!”</p><p>But instead of agreeing, she just made a noise of disbelief and rolled her eyes. Thomas steamed, humiliated at being feminized in front of his colleagues.</p><p>Mrs. Patmore was saved from a hiding by Baxter, who came out of the servant’s hall to greet him.</p><p>“I’m glad I’ve caught you,” She said. “You look very smart in your suit. I hope you have a good time. I wanted to have a word though?”</p><p>They stepped out into the hallway, taking a second to lurk in the shadows where so often before O’Brien had liked to hide.</p><p>“Bloody Patmore sayin’ I’m a girl,” He hissed. “I hate it when people think I’m some kind of chit-“</p><p>“I’m sure she didn’t mean that,” she said.</p><p>Thomas made a noise of disbelief, rolling his eyes.</p><p>“Listen, I wanted to make sure we talked,” Baxter murmured, dipping her head in close. “He has friends in York, though not many. You need to avoid a bar called the Red Swan. That’s where he used to go all the time.”</p><p>“Alright,” Thomas said. “I’ll make sure we do that.”</p><p>They were intruded upon by Mr. Carson, who always seemed to know when merrymaking was happening below stairs. Like a bloodhound, he was drawn to the scent to squash it out. There were still tinges of his latest conversation ringing in Thomas’ head, and he could no longer look at the man the same way. Part of him had always loathed Carson for the sheer fact that he’d never given Thomas a chance. Once that barrier dropped, something softer and keener to hurt lay waiting. Something that bruised when pressed and wept when left alone.</p><p>It was this that Thomas dwelled upon now as he saw Mr. Carson take in Richard’s lone valise.</p><p>“Are you leaving?” Mr. Carson asked.</p><p>“We are,” He said, stepping away from Baxter.</p><p>“And when can we expect you back?”</p><p>“Sometime tomorrow,” Richard took control of the conversation, leaving it purposefully vague, “Can’t say the hour but it’ll be before dinner.”</p><p>“I see.” At this, he grew tense, “So you’re staying overnight but you’re only taking one valise.”</p><p>Thomas flushed, nervous. Richard, on the other hand, just got annoyed.</p><p>“Yes,” He drawled, as if this weren’t entirely obvious in the first place.</p><p>“And where will you be staying?” Mr. Carson asked. Thomas noted that by the stove, Mrs. Patmore was now watching the exchange with keen interest. He supposed this was what it felt like to watch a crowd draw at a public execution. She could certainly do the chopping with that knife.</p><p>“At a lodging,” Richard said.</p><p>“Which is?”</p><p>“Where we will be staying- is this interview over, because we have lunch and dinner plans, not to mention after dinner entertainment, and I won’t have Thomas’ time off be ruined by your questioning,” Richard snapped.</p><p>“Richard…” Thomas managed to get out through clenched teeth, ever so casually pinching him in the back of the arm where Mr. Carson could not see. Richard winced, shaking his arm away, but the message was clear: <em>Be quiet. </em></p><p>“Mr. Carson,” He stepped forward, with a more respectful town and a downcast eye. “We’re planning on meeting friends in York for dinner at a place that’s well out of the way. For… men who don’t like to make a show and a dance,” it was enough to get to the point without saying the actual words, and the nod of Mr. Carson’s head was proof enough the message had sunk home. “We’ll enjoy some entertainment, and rest there for the evening, there’s a hotel that’s connected to the venue for extra revenue. We’ll probably want to get a bite to eat in the morning, but we won’t take too long. We’ll be back here by lunchtime tomorrow at the very latest, and since Richard’s face is still healing and you’re so well learned, I doubt the family will be much shaken up-“</p><p>“My concern is not for the family, Thomas,” Mr. Carson explained, hands clasped behind his back, “It is for you, believe it or not. Have you not considered how dangerous this all is? O’Brien is out there, doing god knows what, as is that fiend Coyle. Why not have a policeman go with you?”</p><p>“I couldn’t do that Mr. Carson, not where we’re going,” He implored. “It’s one thing to turn your eye to two, but to turn your eye to twenty? Forty, even? That’s just not feasible. Someone will get arrested, and it’ll be our fault, we’d never forgive ourselves.”</p><p>Over Carson’s shoulder, Andy bent over to whisper to Daisy: “There are twenty gays in Yorkshire?”. She replied with a sour look and a slight smack on his arm.</p><p>“But you cannot deny this is dangerous, Thomas,” Mr. Carson urged. “At least tell me where you’re going.”</p><p>“I can’t,” He wished the man could understand just how much this all pained him. “I’m sorry… but we both know I can’t tell you anything. Now I’m afraid I have to go.”</p><p>“Will you at least phone to let me know you’re safe?” Mr. Carson called out after their retreating backs. Richard waved him off.</p><p>“They don’t have phones where we’re going, it’s underground,” He explained.</p><p>“Underground?” Carson balked.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It was this word which echoed down the hall as they left, and this very same word which marked the interest in the policeman at the door. It was Willas, who tipped his hat to Richard and Thomas as they left. But he watched them walk, noting how they seemed in a bit of a hurry, and when they turned to head for the garage, Willas stepped inside to find the downstairs slightly shook up.</p><p>It was always peculiar to him, a man who could go home in the evening and not think about work, to watch people who never really stopped being on call. His mother had been a maid, and she’d worked her fingers to the bone. In her old age, her hands had been clawed like a vulture from arthritis and pain. He could the same fate befalling the kitchen maid and watched her sadly as she scrubbed brass pots with a scouring pan. Carson was in dismay, tutting as he returned to his office.</p><p>“Sergeant,” Carson groaned. “Please tell me there is no more bad news? I can’t take much more after today.”</p><p>“None as of yet,” Willas assured him. “We’re still looking for Griggs, and O’Brien. Chaytor’s getting angrier by the hour. What’s happened today?”</p><p>“Barrow and Ellis have gone off to York somewhere underground,” Carson gestured for him to follow into his office, and he shut the door to give them some privacy. “To a place for… you know…”</p><p>It went without saying.</p><p>“It’s a bit odd,” Willas admitted. His heart was starting to race, thinking the words that he’d heard from Chaytor that very morning:</p><p>
  <em>“Any movement, any word, and you let me know straight away. I think they know more than they’re letting on.” </em>
</p><p>“Mr. Carson, do you happen to know where they’re going?” He asked.</p><p>“No, he wouldn’t say,” he said. “And he wouldn’t take protection with him. But what if O’Brien is waiting around every corner? This just seems like a terrible trap, I wish he’d listen to sense! Why must all my footmen be thick headed?” And at this, he collapsed in his swivel chair behind his desk.</p><p>“William was practically a toddler, James was an incorrigible flirt and a louse, Alfred was too good for me, Moseley spoke in front of the Queen, Albert doesn’t know when to hold his tongue, Andy can’t even write properly and Thomas is…” Carson strangled his hands in the air, searching for a word but finding nothing.</p><p>“…Thomas?” Willas supplied.</p><p>“Thomas is Thomas,” Carson agreed, pitifully. “And as much as I wish I understood him, I will always be on the fringe until he lets me in.”</p><p>Just then, the door to the hall opened to reveal Mrs. Hughes.</p><p>“Mr. Carson, I’m afraid you better come with me…” Somewhere in the background, one could hear the smattering of a far-off argument. “Andy’s gone and made a mess with the polish and used the wrong rag. I think we might have an issue with a candelabra.”</p><p>“And see how my day goes?” He gestured from Willas to the door. “Do you see it, Sergeant?”</p><p>“I see it,” their old friendship certainly paved the way for queer conversation. Carson rose up from his chair, sniffing and smoothing back his hair.</p><p>“Right then,” He said bitterly, making to leave.</p><p>“Mr. Carson can I use your phone?” Willas asked.</p><p>“Certainly,” he didn’t even give it a second thought, leaving without another word. As the door shut, Willas took a second to deliberate and finally decided it was absolutely essential he call Chaytor.</p><p>Phone sweating in hand, he chewed a bit on a fingernail in dismay as he waited anxiously for a voice on the other end. He glanced to the walls, noting faded photographs of the staff when they were younger.</p><p>One in particular caught his eye. It was a picture of Barrow in his youth; he was probably only fifteen, standing side by side with a doe eyed boy he knew to be the late William Mason.</p><p>Incredible, how young they’d once been.</p><p>“…They’re on the move…” Willas could hear the words leaving his mouth, but he wasn’t focused on talking to Chaytor. Instead, he just kept staring at that photo. At the way that Thomas looked so haunted, even as a child. “York. An underground bar for queers. Sound familiar?”</p><p><em>“No, but that won’t matter. Get in the car and follow them,” </em>Chaytor ordered at once. <em>“Stay hidden until I reach you. I’m bringing a few old friends who know how to handle lavenders. We’re getting to the bottom of this tonight.”</em></p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>The ride to York was short and uneventful. It was funny to watch the world revolve around them, while they were skiving off work. Tradesmen were at their posts, wives were putting out their washing, and children were in school. Meanwhile the pair of them were galivanting to York without a care in the world.</p><p>They arrived shortly after noon, and as decided long before they went to Betty’s to indulge in a spot of tea. Thomas wasn’t going to eat a proper lunch, not when he knew how the night would probably turn out. He did, however, buy a hamper with Richard, and then got another one named the Yorkshire Delight for Mrs. Patmore. They then went to an antique’s center where they pondered over every type of idiotic item you could think of.</p><p>Richard bought Thomas a pendant for his albert chain that was in the shape of a robin with a piece of citrine cut out for the breast. It glimmered in the light and put a quick step to his heart. They then went to the York Minster, just to see what it looked like on the inside, and after they’d gotten bored of being in awe of stained glass and statues, they left and went wander around the museum gardens where the remains of an ancient abbey still stood erect on a lawn of green grass. It was strange, to imagine that at one point in time this wrecked sight would have been the home of a glorious house of worship. Henry the eighth and the reformation of England had seen to that… now, nothing was left save for a few outer walls bleached white by the limping English sun.</p><p>Paths had been beaten into ancient concrete, with broken stone surrounding little beds of upturned fertilizer where ferns and shrubs grew. The overhang of trees put them in a shady quiet and made it easy to think that they were completely alone in the universe. Every so often they’d come upon a woman with a pram, probably a governess, taking her charge on a walk. But as the hour grew late, the children inevitably vanished to be replaced by rowdy teenagers. The ruins of the abbey were the perfect place to hide from the long arm of the law; Thomas could smell the scent of opium as the sun died down. Every so often you’d hear a youth cheer on his fellow:</p><p>
  <em>“Go on, Jack! Get ‘em lad!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Show us your ankles, Susy!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I’ll show you my middle finger, you cad!” </em>
</p><p>They walked along the walls of ancient Rome, every so often passing a barred door which showed grass on the other side. At one of these gates, Richard looked over his shoulder to ensure they were alone before carefully lifting up the gate by an arm hole and moving it to the side so that they could both duck their heads under a crumbling arch and pass through.</p><p>It was now properly dusk, and before them stood a building made of red brick and fancy white trimmings. It looked like it belonged to the university, and its windows were glowing golden with signs of life on the inside. They made very little noise, slipping easily into the brush, and hiding out of sight from the windows as the rounded the walls of roman stone. They can to a corner, which at one point in time must have held some type of guard house. Now, only the shell remained. Around the perimeter lay bizarre rectangular stone boxes. It was almost as if they were crypts, but not quite. Maybe this had been an area of storage in the tower’s basement. The grass sagged and dipped, taking them into a quaint little hole.</p><p>“Rich, where are we?” Thomas wondered.</p><p>“Shh.” Richard warned. He handed Thomas his valise and set their hamper on the ground. The lid of one of the boxes seemed slightly less grubby than the rest. Richard fingered the edge, seemingly searching for something, and found it with a soft metallic click. The lid opened to reveal a set of stairs going down into blackness and damp.</p><p>“Oh-!” He could not contain his shock. It felt like discovering a hidden door in a room you’d known for years.</p><p>“Quick,” Richard said. He grabbed his valise and the hamper back from Thomas, allowing him to lead the way forward into the dark so that he could seal the stairs up behind them. They were plunged into blackness, so thick and complete that Thomas could scarcely see an inch in front of his nose. He was in real danger of tripping down the stairs, and the only way that he could keep from slipping was to reach his hands out and touch both sides of the wall to use as a balance. By the time he made it to level ground, the tiniest prick of light could be seen in the distance. There was a shuffling noise, following by a sudden spark of light as Richard lit his personal lighter and handed it to Thomas so that he could carry their things.</p><p>It revealed a gloomy passage, as old as time itself. The stone was wet, though there was no sign of a leak or dripping water. They began their way forward, and Thomas began to shudder as the temperature plummeted. The further down they went, stairwell after stairwell, the colder and danker that the air became. Their only consolation was that the light at the end of the tunnel turned out to be the beginning of a row of brass lamps. Suddenly, it was easy to see where they were going, and Richard’s lighter was no longer needed.</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>Around twenty steps back, hiding in the darkness still, a group of four men stood clustered listening to their quarry up ahead. Any slip up now could result in them getting thrown off the scent and left in the dark.</p><p>Chaytor, at the head, pressed a finger to his thin lips, warning the others to remain quiet.</p><p>They obeyed without question.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>“It’s getting colder,” Thomas wondered, noting that the walls were slick with dew. Every so often, you’d hear a tiny drip of water hitting ancient stone. The frigid damp put a slight chill in his bones; he hugged his arms tight to his chest.</p><p>“Yeah, it does that. Don’t worry, it gets warm in just a second,” Richard promised. As they passed each set of brass lamps, the sound of a band playing grew louder. Eventually, they came right up to an old metal door that was four fingers thick. In front of it stood a man with a gun visible at his hip. He smiled at the sight of Richard and extended his hand.</p><p>“Dick! Glad to see you back!” the man said.</p><p>“Frank,” Richard greeted.</p><p>“Whose this pretty thing with you?” Frank noted Thomas at Richard’s shoulder. “Where on earth did you find him? Surely not here in York, or I’d have seen him before.”</p><p>“Downton, if you can believe it,” Richard said.</p><p>“Oh, hell, you’ve gone and plucked yourself a country rose you lucky dog.” Thomas ducked his head, hiding a blush and a laugh.</p><p>“This is Thomas,” Richard introduced. Thomas shook Frank’s hand.</p><p>“I’m Frank, a school chum of Richard’s.” Frank explained. “I was his first kiss!”</p><p>Like most people, Richard did not relish the memory of his youthful idiocies. He even shuddered and made a retching noise.</p><p>“So are you his new squeeze?” Frank asked.</p><p>“Uh, he’s a bit more than that, thank you,” Squeezes, it seemed were far too immature for Richard to stand. “He’s got me settled good and proper.”</p><p>“Well I’m happy for you,” Frank said. “Why don’t you come on in and enjoy the room?”</p><p>“I will but first-!” Frank paused, hand still on the doorknob. “Seen a man come by? Thin, brown hair, pencil mustache… make have a looked a bit sharp?”</p><p>“No,” Frank said. “Old frame?”</p><p>“Old friend,” he corrected. “Christopher is his name. If he comes through tell him we’re here.”</p><p>Frank opened the door and revealed a corridor lined with images of the orient. On the left-hand side was an opening where a man in drag stood sorting through money behind an old stone counter. Sometimes you could tell by looking at people whether or not they’d had a hard life. This man was the same. His hair was shaved to the scalp, but his face was painted and beautiful sapphire earrings hung from his earlobes. As they approached him, he looked up with mild interest.</p><p>“Hello,” He greeted. His voice was soothing and soft. Thomas had to wonder just how old this man was… it was difficult to say whether he was thirty or fifty.</p><p>“I called a few days ago,” Richard said. “I’ve rented room 174.”</p><p>“Name?”</p><p>“Jack White,” Richard lied. The man examined a roster, and when he found the alias he ticked it off with a blue ink pen before handing Richard a smooth wooden slat about the size of an outstretched palm. Thomas had never seen a key that looked like this before.</p><p>“There you are,” the man said.</p><p>“Thanks,” Richard tipped his hat to the man. “I’ve got some personal items, can I leave them with you?”</p><p>“I’ll have them delivered,” He promised. Richard handed over his valise and both their hampers. “Betty’s I see?”</p><p>“Can’t come to York without going to Betty’s,” Richard agreed. “Has a man named Christopher Webster come in yet?”</p><p>“If he has, he hasn’t booked a room darling. That’s all I know,” the man said in dismay.</p><p>“Alright, if he does come in will you tell him that Thomas and Richard are here? He’ll know who we are.”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>With them, they headed into the main cavern on the right. It was lit by a hundred candles both on the wall and on tables (which were nothing more than dock spools on their sides). A bar had been created in the corner out of crates, and glittering bottles hosted a variety of whiskeys, rums, gins, and scotches. In the opposite corner stood a five-piece band upon a platform, playing soft jazz. It was quiet enough to allow conversation to flow, so that the throng of guests didn’t have to talk over one another to be heard.</p><p>Unlike Turpin’s, there were women here. Thomas in particular noted that one had a capuchin monkey on her shoulder. This was less of a gay bar, and more of an artist’s hole, but everyone here seemed to be a homosexual of some sort or flair. There were a few more men in drag, a couple of women in drag, some girls in very pretty flapper dresses, and a whole host of men and boys. There were sailors, politicians, tradesmen, and servants. Everyone ate like equals from plates of blue china, and on the walls…? Rows upon rows of broken blue china plates.</p><p>There had to be hundreds, if not over a thousand of them. They carried scenes of ancient China, where lords and ladies were waited upon by doting servants in flowing robes. Lotus blossoms drifted upon still pools, and old willow trees shaded emperors as they pondered the meaning of life.</p><p>“Welcome to China Blue,” Richard said.</p><p>“It’s beautiful,” He said, and indeed it was.</p><p>“Let’s sit.” Richard pulled out a chair for him, and he sat down. “We’ll wait here for Chris.”</p><p>They hadn’t been stationary for more than a minute before a young boy with a cigarette tray looped around his neck came up with a positively dull expression. He couldn’t be any older than thirteen!</p><p>“Welcome to China Blue, where the only thing blue is the china,” He drawled. “Can I get a drink?” From the tone of his voice, he sounded more eager to get on with his night and stop working.</p><p>“How old are you?” Richard wondered.</p><p>“Old enough,” the boy retorted.</p><p>“Don’t mind him,” Thomas cut across, before an argument could start. The boy gave him a wary look. “I have a boy about your age back home whose working under me. I’m sure they’re making you do all the errands. I’ll take an ale, please.”</p><p>“Same,” Richard said. “Careful you don’t drink any of it on the way back.”</p><p>“You’ll be lucky if I don’t spit in it,” the young boy snapped. He stomped off, annoyed at having to deal with yet another patronizing adult.</p><p>Richard made a low noise of disgust, rolling his eyes. “Christ where do they get them from?”</p><p>“Poor thing, he’s probably been kicked out of his house,” Thomas lamented.</p><p>They stared at one another, finally able to relax and not have to worry about prying eyes. Two tables over, the capuchin monkey was being fed peanuts by a girl in a flapper dress, and from the noises it was making it was having a right proper time.</p><p>Richard reached out over the dock spool and took Thomas’ hands in his own, clasping them firmly.</p><p>“God….” He squeezed Thomas’ slender fingers. “I’ve wanted to do this for ages. To hold your hand in public. To kiss your lips.”</p><p>He beamed. Richard took up his hand, and before all the other patrons he kissed Thomas’ knuckles. His lips were warm and soft.</p><p>“I love you,” He declared, and he’d never meant it more. “Truly Richard. You’ve saved me with your existence.”</p><p>At this, Richard pulled him in and they kissed upon the lips. They took their time, their touch languid, and only pulled back when the boy returned with two ales in china mugs.</p><p>“Here you go,” the boy set both of them down, “Now pay up front, I’m not getting stiffed again.”</p><p>Richard huffed, setting back in his seat to pull out his wallet. He offered the change with some advice, “Sure are lippy, aren’t you?”</p><p>“Why don’t you focus less on mine and more on his,” the boy warned. Thomas snorted into his ale.</p><p>“Christ, you little tramp!” Richard wondered, irritably. “I’ll box your ears in!”</p><p>“Go on ahead, Grandpa, mind you don’t trip over your cane.” The boy said. He left, with Richard gaping after his retreating back.</p><p>“…Grandpa?” He wondered. “I’m not that old, am I?”</p><p>Thomas could not help but laugh for a moment. Richard was dismayed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t think I’m going gray yet-“</p><p>“Don’t be vain,” he teased. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re perfectly fine. We <em>are </em>ancient, compared to that young thing. By the time he’s our age we’ll be in our seventies.”</p><p>“Jesus Christ….” Richard mumbled, staring into the foam of his ale like he thought his murky reflection might offer him some wisdom or consolation. It gave him neither.</p><p>Thomas glanced up and saw nobody that looked like Chris. There were a group of men in the back corner with their faces down over a game of cards, but none of them were thin or weedy. They were older, so clearly none of them were Chris. He looked left and right, but they were alone without their friend.</p><p>“I wonder where he is?” Thomas mused. “God I’m so worried. After that interrogation, I think Chaytor’s getting close.”</p><p>“Chaytor won’t be able to find him for shit,” Richard promised. “Wherever he is, he’s safe. An’ that’s that. He’ll come, just drink your ale and enjoy the music.”</p><p>“Yeah but didn’t he say he’d be here?”</p><p> </p><p>“I say plenty of things.”</p><p>The warm voice, with just a tinge of brass, put a jolt of joy through Thomas’ heart. He whipped around in his set, nearly spilling his beer, to find Chris Webster just behind him. He’d snuck in through the crowd and was in a new suit with his hair freshly washed. He was a man revived, a world away from the creature that had been forced to hide in Downton Abbey’s basement. He grinned a charming little crooked grin, spreading his arms as if to say ‘tada’.</p><p>It was as good a magic trick as any Thomas had ever seen. He staggered from his chair and instantly threw his arms around Christopher’s neck. Chris laughed gayly, clearly delighted in himself.</p><p>“You did it!” He cried out, pushing back a bit to stare him in the face. “You really did it!”</p><p>“I really did it,” he agreed. Richard stood up, leaning across the table to warmly shake his hand; they all three sat back down, with Chris in between them. Richard slid over the beer he’d just ordered.</p><p>“Here, for you.”</p><p>“Ooh! You spoil me,” he declared; he drank it at once, guzzling it down like a man possessed. “Ahh….” He pulled away with a bit of foam on the fringes of his dark mustache. A quick wipe with a faded handkerchief and he was back to rights.</p><p>He smacked his lips with pleasure, grinning at the pair of them while they waited with bated breath. For a moment, he simply stared.</p><p>“Well?” Thomas demanded, when it became clear Chris wasn’t going to give anything away.</p><p>“Well, what?” He teased.</p><p>“Where’d you hide him?” Richard asked.</p><p>“Mmm?” Chris took another sip of beer; he was already at a half-drunk pint. “Oh, you must mean that fat fuck I gutted.”</p><p>“No, I mean the <em>other </em>fat fuck you gutted,” Richard sneered.</p><p>“He’s in the catacombs underneath Downton,” Chris explained. “They’ll never find the bastard unless they find their way into the channels, and even then, it goes on for miles… they’ll get lost and die down there themselves if they dare try. I went back to the mines, got the rest of my stash that Coyle never found, and headed off into the sunset. Back home!” And at this, his eyes gleamed manically. “Where I promptly bathed for an hour in a hot tub full of soaking salts and slept on a mattress…oh it’s good to be home. York is my city.”</p><p>“Another thing we’ll have to share,” Richard mused. Thomas blinked, taken aback.</p><p>“Yes….” Chris slid his eyes over to Thomas, practically salivating. “Yes, I am so looking forward to all of that, Dickie.”</p><p>The idea of two men having him at the same time was positively lustful. A hot blush crept up into his cheeks. To hide it, he quickly took a sip of beer.</p><p>“Lemme finish my drink first,” He grumbled.</p><p>“Oh, don’t worry, we have all night.” Richard declared. Thomas took another sip, avoiding both men’s eyes. Why now was he feeling like a virgin?</p><p>“Fancy a game of cards?” Chris pulled a pack out of his jacket pocket.</p><p>“Course-!”</p><p>And the two of them began to play while Thomas drank. Another beer was ordered to replace Richard’s first, but they were consumed with outdoing each other in a game of spite and malice. It was the perfect sort of game for their relationship because it involved a bit of backstabbing which made them feel right at home. Chris was lazy, shedding his jacket and sprawling about the chair like a cat. Richard was hunched over, glowering at his cards as Christopher’s star pile slowly but surely began to dwindle down faster than Richard’s. There was a bit of arguing over whether a joker could be used play a seven, which Richard seemed to think was allowed but Christopher did not. As a result, they spent half the game arguing with each other instead of actually focusing on the other’s hand.</p><p>“You should know…” Thomas cut in as Christopher got rid of yet another star card. “Both Richard and I were brought in for questioning.”</p><p>“I figured you would be.” He paused, laying down his hand of cards to reshuffle the draw deck which was getting significantly thicker after all the cast offs.</p><p>“Chaytor… the DSO of Yorkshire. He knows about you,” Thomas said.</p><p>“Ahh… the white horse,” Chris tutted behind his teeth. “Chaytor, yes, I know all about him!” he grinned, flashing him with a smile. “We’ve run into each other many times over the years, we’re old friends.”</p><p>“Are you.”</p><p>“Mhmm. He tries to arrest me, I try to kill him, it’s a beautiful and complicated relationship, my little dewdrop.”</p><p>Chris picked back up his hand and gestured for Richard to draw. Whatever he drew, he didn’t like, and made a sour face.</p><p>“He thinks I know where you are,” Thomas went on. “I’ve told him he’s not getting a word out of me. But he’s so…. So…. I dunno. He can get things out of me. I dunno how! It’s creepy!”</p><p>“Ah, he’s a master of manipulation,” Chris agreed. “He knows it’s not about what you ask. It’s about how you ask it. He’ll word a question in a way that makes you think it’s not the question it really is. And then he’ll get you.”</p><p>“He sounds like a snake,” Richard muttered.</p><p>“You ever read ‘Through the Looking Glass’?” Chris asked. Both Richard and Thomas nodded. “Chaytor’s like the Cheshire Cat. He’s always got a way with words, and he’ll spin your head around if you let him. That’s why I like him; the pair of us can go for hours. We once did a questioning session that lasted ten hours and we didn’t even realize it. That’s how deep we were into the other’s head. Like getting’ sucked out into a damn ocean-“</p><p>He did a massive play of cards, getting rid of one star after another. Richard was dismayed.</p><p>“So what’s he want with you, sugar dumplin’?” Chris asked.</p><p>“Wants me to turn you in. He said ‘tell him I’m looking for him, and I’ll find him in the end.’” He said. Chris paused mid game, winking at Thomas.</p><p>“Oh, sneaky sneaky. Well, you tell him-!” And with each word Chris laid down a card. “That his wife Abigail is far too happy with her chickens that he bought her for Christmas, and if he tries to make you squirm I’ll steal those fuckin’ chickens and eat them!” And at this, he laid down he last card.</p><p>“Ah! New draw,” he beamed, pulling five more cards from the draw stack.</p><p>“Fuckin hell!” Richard moaned. “Let me breath!”</p><p>“Nah,” Chris cackled. “Your turn.”</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>In the back corner of the room, Chaytor pulled a face in annoyance. How had Webster found out about Abigail’s new hen brood?</p><p>“Christ he’s well informed,” Whispered one of his men. “He’s got his rings back up and running.”</p><p>“You hear him mention the ‘fat fuck he gutted’?” the other said. “Who the hell is that?”</p><p>“God knows,” Chaytor whispered, eyes downcast. “Just keep playing cards and don’t let him see your faces. He almost discovered us a second ago.”</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>“I just don’t want him to arrest me,” Thomas complained. “Last time Richard bailed me out. Who’s going to save me this time?”</p><p>“Me.” Chris said. “There’s a guy inside Downton Police on my command… you get locked up, I’ll have him spring you and come pick you up and take you back to my hidey hole where I shall ravage your sweet little body. So I suggest you finish your beer.”</p><p>Thomas’ cheeks were back to being filled with fire. It was a mark of how seriously Richard was taking the game that he did not give comment to Chris’ lurid flirtation.</p><p>As they began to round out the last few paces of their game, Thomas finished his beer. He said nothing, heart beginning to pound just a little faster at the thought of what was about to come. He licked his lips clean of foam, watching the parry of hands back and forward. Richard had had a string of luck, and now the pair of them were down to their last two star cards. The next flush would result in a winner…. But who would be clever enough to see a move first?</p><p>“Fuckin’ cheatin-“Richard cursed under his breath.</p><p>“I am not,” Chris seemed to find this accusation more demeaning than his actual crimes.</p><p>“Roll up your shirt sleeves, I bet you’ve got one of those crazy contraptions that slides cards down your sleeve!”</p><p>“Go fuck yourself,” Chris said, but it was without any heat. “You’re just a miserable little card player, and you can’t hold your own against a champion.”</p><p>But even as Chris drew five more cards, Thomas coughed. When the others did not look around, he coughed just a little louder.</p><p>They both looked and found his glass empty. Chris dropped his cards in a flutter onto the table.</p><p>“Never mind,” he blurted out.</p><p>“Who the fuck cares about cards,” Richard agreed. He stood at once from the table, Chris right behind him. From his pocket, he withdrew that curious key from before. “Shall we?”</p><p>When Thomas did not immediately make to stand, Chris offered his hand in a show of chivalry. He rose up, cheeks still quite hot, and followed after the two men. Chris did not let go, but no one cared. They cut a line around the dance floor where a few men were enjoying a waltz, and then made their way down a large carved passage.</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>“Now,” Chaytor whispered. They rose up as one, abandoning their card game and following their prey across the room.</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>It followed no true direction. Sometimes it bent left, other times it went right. Judging by the gouge marks on the walls, it seemed to have more to do with the fact that rock became harder in areas than it was with others. Roman soldier’s, exhausted by their task, must have decided it wasn’t worth it to go in a straight line if they could get the job done quicker.</p><p>“It gets a little tricky here, so stay close,” Richard said; they had to squeeze to the left as a woman and her partner passed on the right. Lipstick was smudged all over their mouths. “It’s not like a normal hotel. There’s lots of different levels; I used to come here all the time, so I know where our room is. I’ve had it before. This whole place was dug out by hand.”</p><p>“Christ, imagine doin’ this with no modern tools,” Chris wondered.</p><p>“I guess they had a lot more time on their hands.” They went up a flight of steps, and then were faced with a chance to go left or right. They took the path to the left, and Thomas noticed it became slightly warmer with a tinge of humidity in their air as if hot water was nearby. Now they were passing doors, each carved by hand with a number, and lit with a brass lamp. They had to walk for quite a while before they got to the appropriate one… 174.</p><p>“Here we are,” Richard showed the bizarre lock, which looked like nothing more than a block of wood with a slit on the top that just fit the key. “Now see, this lock’s a bit different.”</p><p>He inserted the rod, and then pulled the lock itself from the bottom so that he was sending the bolt in mixed directions. Something underneath slid, and an audible noise gave way to the lock coming into two pieces. The door was now clear, and Richard showed them the lock with interest so they could all gape at it.</p><p>“What the hell?” Chris wondered, picking it up and holding it up to the lamplight. “What the fuck is this thing? A jigsaw?”</p><p>“Nah, it’s Roman.” Richard said. He opened the door to reveal darkness beyond that was so pitch black they could make out nothing. At once, Chris reached for his waist band.</p><p>“Oh, this is lovely,” He sneered; Thomas could just make out a pistol which he gripped.</p><p>“Relax…” Richard reached up and took the brass oil lamp from its bracket on the wall. It now served as their light into the room and revealed a cozy den that wasn’t much bigger than a servant’s room at Downton. Inside, there was a large bed which wasn’t made up, and a chest of drawers. There were a few pillows, but they didn’t have sheets on them either. The headboard and footboard were made of iron pipes, the sort that their Victorian ancestors would have adored. It was all very spartan, but also neat.</p><p>As they entered, Richard shut the door behind them, and re-used the same lock and key to secure their privacy.</p><p>“See it works on both sides,” Richard explained. “So now, no one can get in… pretty damn convenient.”</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>As the door closed, Chaytor and his group approached. With a finger pressed to his lips, Chaytor ever so casually pressed his ear against the door, then pulled back.</p><p>“Locked,” He said. “We’re not getting through till they come out.”</p><p>“What are they doing in there?” One of his men asked. Towards the back of the group came Willas, face still screwed up in dismay. In plain clothes, he looked like any other ordinary man, save for the fact that he was clearly out of his element.</p><p>“I don’t like this, Chaytor,” he urged with a harsh whisper. “This isn’t right. This is where they come to be safe.”</p><p>“As I said before in the car, we’re not here to arrest anyone for being gay,” Chaytor said. “These two men both have homosexuals in their families, you can trust them, Willas. We’re here for one person, and one person only… Webster.”</p><p>“So as soon as they open the door, we arrest him, but what about Barrow and Ellis?” Willas whispered. “What will do you about them?”</p><p>“We’ll go down to the station, have a cup of tea, and a chat.” Chaytor assured them. “And then you can take them back to Downton, and I can take Webster to jail.”</p><p>But Willas was none too sure.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Down the hall, and hidden at the curve, stood yet another person waiting on the occupants of 174.</p><p>Phyllis Moseley, in her plain day dress and with a gun in her coat pocket, watched the policeman down the hall warily.</p><p>She was the stalker of the stalkers, the shadow which had followed the policeman from Downton, and though she did not know it she would be the final line in the sand that night.</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>“They got sheets in this place?” It might not have meant to come off so condescending, but it was clear Chris wasn’t impressed. “I mean I live in a shit hole, but even I’ve got sheets Dick.” In the corner sat their two hampers and the valise.</p><p>This only served to make Richard laugh; clearly the beer had loosened him up. “Check the cupboard you prat.”</p><p>And sure enough, when Chris opened the drawer, he found everything they were looking for, from a duvet to sheets.</p><p>“Well hell, why hide it in here?”</p><p>“I dunno, saves on the cleaning?”</p><p>Thomas let the two of them bicker, wandering around the room to come to a carve out in the wall. It held a little nook, which bent backwards so that one could safely tuck inside and hide from the rest. There, he found of all things a toilet! Who would have known?</p><p>“There’s a toilet!” He wondered, amazed. I mean, there wasn’t a door to give you privacy, but you were concealed by the rock face.</p><p>“Yeah, I paid extra for that,” Richard grunted, clearly focused on making up the bed; Thomas looked up and noted a shower head above him, along with a lever. It wasn’t much, and when he pulled it the water was frigidly cold. “It’s got the makings of a bathroom; water went through here at one point for something, god knows what. A few rooms, not many, have a bathroom. I thought it might be nice since we’re staying the night-“</p><p>And then, a naughty little idea came to his mind. His listened to the sounds of the pair of them grumbling over sheets, and he mused over how much fun it might be… to just…</p><p>… take off all his clothes.</p><p>And what if he just, waltzed out of the room? Starkers? What would they do? What would they say? Would they be flabbergasted, or would they be delighted? They’d been flirting with him all night long, calling him everything under the sun, and promising what they’d do with him once they got the chance. Well…. Maybe he ought to call their bluff.</p><p> </p><p>So, he began to hastily disrobe. With each piece of clothing he pulled off, he hung it over the lever which operated the shower. The hardest part was getting off his boots because the floor was damned cold and slightly dirty. But it was worth it, to finally come free naked and be only a wall away from the pair of them.</p><p>He looked down and remarked at his body; he wasn’t as firm or as fit as he’d been when he was eighteen. Where he’d broken his ribs, his skin was slightly green from faded bruises. Just as Richard had bade, he’d shaved his arms and legs; it made him feel a bit like a girl. But his backside was firm from walking up and down stairs all his life, and his stomach didn’t sag. He was, in short, perfectly adequate.</p><p>He plucked back up his shirt sleeves and threw it on without buttoning up the front. The tails hung down, just barely covering his genitals. It would be the perfect bow to a sultry little gift.</p><p>“I’m practically a maid!” Chris was joking. “How’d I do? Reckon that housekeeper of yours would hire me? You know I saw her kissin’ that butler in the cellar; I was a shelf away they had no idea.”</p><p>“Please stop talking, or I’m going to vomit,” Richard moaned.</p><p>“No, seriously, it was the craziest thing. They were lookin’ at a bottle of port and he declared that she was the loveliest port he’d ever drink. What a fuckin’ line, eh-? But she loved it!”</p><p>“Chris, shuttup.”</p><p>He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly through his mouth, and carefully stepped around the bend.</p><p>The bed was now made up, with a dark maroon duvet and simple white sheets. Richard and Chris stood on opposite sides, now teasing the hell out of each other while Richard rifled through his valise.</p><p>“He grabbed her arse, I swear it!” Chris declared. “Grabbed it, full out, and she didn’t even have much of an arse-“</p><p>“And do I?” Thomas asked.</p><p>Chris and Richard looked around.</p><p> </p><p>The silence which followed was utterly deafening. It was only pushed further as Thomas carefully let his shirtsleeves fall to the floor so that he stood before them naked as the day he’d been born.</p><p>Chris made noises like he was choking on the back of his tongue. Richard’s hand slipped on his valise.</p><p> </p><p>“Am I not more entertaining than naughty stories?” Thomas asked.</p><p>“…. fuck… me…” Richard finally managed to get out, his voice wrangled where it was normally like silk.</p><p> </p><p>“I do believe it’s a little chilly in here,” He mocked, pretending to shudder as if cold. “Are you gentlemen going to warm me up? Or shall I put back on my clothes?”</p><p>In a sudden, spastic movement, Chris whipped about to face Richard with one hand palm up and the other made like a fist atop it. “Rock, paper, scissors,” he blurted out.</p><p>Richard immediately put his hand up in return.</p><p>“Really?” He grumbled, dryly. “You’re really doing this with a game of rock paper scissors? Are you twelve?”</p><p>Clearly, they were twelve, before the next thing you knew they were throwing hands and Richard had won with scissors beating paper.</p><p>“Aha!” Richard declared.</p><p>“Shit!” Chris howled, looking like a child who’d just lost a game at the fair. “Damn, damn, damn!”</p><p>“Relax,” Richard laughed, yanking off his tie and jacket. “Have some of the whiskey we bought. Go through the yellow hamper, not the pink one. That’s for the cook.” He was now ripping through buttons on his shirtsleeves in his eager to undress. Thomas’ heart was pounding wildly in his chest.</p><p>“You said-“ Chris was fumbling with his words, clearly nervous. “If this is some kind of… kind of… joke… If you don’t actually…”</p><p>He was terrified he wouldn’t be able to be with Thomas, and that would never do.</p><p>Lovingly, Thomas stepped forward, and cut Christopher off with the sweetest kiss he could muster. For a moment, Chris was hesitant, not touching Thomas as if he thought he might break him in two. Then, with shaking fingers, he allowed his hands to rest upon the swell of Thomas’ hips. They kissed again and again, as Richard continued to undress; his tongue tasted of beer and mint.</p><p>When Thomas pulled back, he found Christopher entranced. For a moment, they simply stared at one another; then, he carefully began to undo the top button of Christopher’s shirt.</p><p>Now they were really kissing, with Christopher crushing him against his chest and burying his fingers into Thomas’ flesh. Thomas could hear the sound of Richard’s valise opening and closing.</p><p>A sudden pinching sensation at his side made Thomas wince. He pulled back to see, of all things, a knife handle poking out from Christopher’s side! A knife!</p><p>“Huh?” He wondered.</p><p>“Right- sorry-“ Christopher blurted out. He began to rip off his clothes, and with each layer he shed more and more weapons just came out! He took out a pistol from his waistband and set it aside. Then he pulled out yet another gun from behind his back. Then, he took out three knives- two from his sides, and one from his leg.</p><p>“Almost-!” Up his right shirt sleeve were three small black spheres; what were they, grenades? It was hard to say. And then came another knife! “There, done-“ Chris promised, only to blurt out, “oh wait!” As he realized something at the last second. He stooped over, hopping up and down on one foot as he pulled off his left shoe. Out clattered a razor, much like the kind Thomas’ grandfather would have shaved with.</p><p>“There! Done. Absolutely done this time.” He scooped up the razor and dropped it atop all the other weapons on the bureau.</p><p>Thomas gaped at him.</p><p>“… Christopher you’re going to end up shooting yourself, you realize that?” He wondered.</p><p>“Not another word, dumplin-“ Chris surged forward again, and resumed kissing the pants off of him. Clearly the time for conversation was good and over.</p><p>But as Thomas leaned back in for another kiss, his vision was overtaken by black. He was taken aback to find that his eyes had been covered by a cloth, which was tied neatly behind his head.</p><p>“Got you,” Richard whispered playfully into his ear. He was quite blind now.</p><p>“Got me,” He agreed, a smile fixed upon his face.</p><p>From behind, Richard wrapped his arms around Thomas and held him close, his long fingers playing at the soft supple flesh of his lower belly. “Will you let me play a bit?”</p><p>“Mhmm,” Thomas was rendered mute for a moment as Richard began to suck at the juncture of his neck. “Just… don’t…. take off my hand…?” It was a lame sentence and didn’t convey the actual sentiment of his leather wrap, but Richard got the gist.</p><p>“Course not,” He agreed, and to prove he meant it he layered his own atop Thomas’ gloved fingers so that he could squeeze them tightly.</p><p>“Do I get to play?” Chris complained. He still sounded relatively close. He must not have moved away.</p><p>“Only if you’re unarmed.”</p><p>“Sorry about that- it really was the last knife I had on me. I wasn’t thinkin’ he just came out full naked! I got ahead of myself.”</p><p>“Why don’t you get more comfortable, eh?” Richard offered.</p><p>“Don’t mind if I do.”</p><p>And suddenly the air was full of the sounds of clothes being shed. Buttons coming undone, sleeves falling off of arms, the sort of noises you’d hear if you were hiding in a wardrobe. With his eyes covered, Thomas was able to notice things he’d normally take for granted, like the soft sound of leather pulling through the eyelet of a boot, or the way that cufflinks clinked when you held them together in the palm of your hand.</p><p>He was cold, but only for a second. “I want to see,” He complained. He wanted to revel in the differences of their naked bodies… to kiss a trail down Christopher’s chest and press his cheek to Richard’s thighs as he held him tight.</p><p>“You will, eventually,” Richard promised. “But for right now, I want to have a bit of fun. I’m allowed that, aren’t I?”</p><p>“What kind of fun?”</p><p>But then, Thomas felt something rather velvety and tight against his stomach, which slowly slid up.</p><p>It was a rope. The kind of halter you’d put on the steed of a fine horse. It caused his heart to do a wild flip in his chest. Slowly, every so slowly, that rope slid up till it was across his nipples and then his throat. There, Richard held it… and he could have strangled him. How would he have stopped him?</p><p>But he didn’t. And Thomas trusted him so implicitly that he simply allowed himself to revel in the feel of the weight on his flesh. He was safer than he’d ever been in his life.</p><p>“The kind of fun where I tie you up and fuck you so good you can’t walk for a week,” Richard’s voice was a husky timbre in his ear.</p><p>“Yes please!” Chris echoed.</p><p>“How are you going to tie me up?” Thomas wondered. There was a tremble in his voice.</p><p>“Well… I thought I’d start… like this…” And slowly, Richard let his hands slide down the back of Thomas’ arms still they were splayed against his own. He took Thomas’ wrists in hand and brought them up behind his head so that his palms were clasped together as if in prayer. There, Richard tied them, a methodical wrapping of harness until Thomas could no longer free them on his own.</p><p>His heart was now pounding wildly.</p><p>“Now, this works very easily,” Richard murmured, placing loving kisses on the shell of Thomas’ ear. He could feel his member stiffening against his backside. “We use what’s called a safe word. You only say it when you absolutely must. When you want me to stop immediately. Like, if I were to hurt your ribs or something.”</p><p>“Right.” He mumbled.</p><p>“Chaytor is our safe word.” Richard said. Chris snorted, taken aback. “Well, we’re not likely to say his name in the throws of passion are we?”</p><p>“No, no, definitely not.”</p><p>“Follow my lead… trust me and let go.”</p><p>And he was pushed to the edge of the bed where he was made to lay on his stomach. With his arms behind his head, Thomas could brace himself upon his bent elbows so that his face wasn’t squashed into the duvet. His spine curved like a cupid’s bow, with his legs curled up beneath him and his backside in the air. The mattress was slightly moldy, but it had a warm smell to it. It reminded him of a library, like something old that had been around and used for an exceptionally long time.</p><p>“Jesus…” Chris sounded close to coming just from the sight alone. “He’s a fuckin’ angel, Dick.”</p><p>“Chris, since you’ve been so very patient, why don’t you get acquainted while I finish preparing him.”</p><p>“Define acquainted.”</p><p>“Oh, I dunno. Put your cock in his mouth or something,” Richard teased. “That might get things started.”</p><p>He began to salivate, his heart now pounding in his throat.</p><p>“Do you want me to …. To do that? Tommy?” And he sounded so terribly nervous that Thomas could not help but overstep in response. He opened his mouth, and though the act didn’t particularly call for it he allowed the tip of his tongue to show upon his bottom lip, covering the bottom row of his teeth. It was such a sensual, whorish thing to do, but it got the job done.</p><p>“Fuck me…”</p><p>At the edge of the mattress, Thomas waited with bated breath for Chris to take the next step. He could do nothing, with his eyes bound and his wrists behind his head.</p><p>“Okay, Chris. Don’t come immediately,” this seemed to be a pep talk of sorts. “That’s a bad first impression. You’re a grown man.”</p><p>At the very tip of Thomas’ tongue, he felt the slightest heat and tang. Just beyond his reach, lest he stick his neck out. Instead, he allowed his tongue to extend, and lapped at the underside of stiff muscle.</p><p>“Fucking god…” Chris moaned obscenely as Thomas swallowed him into his mouth.</p><p>It was a wonderful thing, to suck Chris off. For so long they’d danced at the edges of what was societally acceptable; he’d been celibate against his will for too many years. Now, with another man’s cock in his mouth, Thomas was back in his element. He wanted to explore every corner of homosexuality. He wanted to make love to both of these extraordinary men on any and every surface he came across. Most of all he just wanted to love them.</p><p>To love, <em>love, love… </em>Until there was nothing left in his life save for the blissful gold that it exuded.</p><p>“Oh Tommy… you’re so beautiful.” He could not see Chris, but he could feel him. He threaded his fingers through Thomas’ hair till he was touching his bound wrists at the back of his neck. He could have done so many things; grabbed his hair or cupped his chin. But instead, he wanted to hold his hand… there was something so loving and sweet about the gesture that he couldn’t quite name.</p><p>It took him a second to realize that Richard was touching his legs. With all his weight resting upon his knees and his elbows, he hadn’t been paying attention to his feet. But suddenly, he could feel the balls of his feet touching the base of his backside. Richard was tying his legs, so that each was folded in on itself. He could use his knees for weight, and still move his legs in any direction he chose, but the lack of his feet was an oddity that almost took his mind off the fact that he was giving Chris a blowjob.</p><p><em>My lover is peculiar, </em>he mused. Still, he wouldn’t change him.</p><p>“If that’s comfortable, squeeze my hand,” he felt Richard’s finger loop around his own. With no pain, Thomas squeezed. “Good. I’d do so much more but I don’t want to touch your chest. Your ribs are healing, and if I tie you up too tightly, I could damage them permanently.”</p><p>He didn’t want to think about his ribs. To distract them all, Thomas began to lavish such affection on Chris’ cock that the man automatically swore aloud and clutched tighter to his fingers.</p><p>“Fucking hell-!” Clearly no one had ever treated him so good. “Jesus Christ…”</p><p>“Let’s change this up a bit-“</p><p>“No thank you!” Chris snapped, like a petulant child being taken away from his favorite toy. It was one thing to deny him a sweetie, it was another thing to stop a blowjob mid-progress. That was just asking for a fight.</p><p>“No, seriously,” Richard was slightly annoyed. He could feel movement about his body and paused in his ministrations to allow Chris to do whatever it was that Richard wanted him to do. Christ, but he could be bossy sometimes.</p><p>“You go here-“ a trail of saliva dribbled down his pointed chin as Chris moved away. He was panting, and only half realized it. A slight dip in pressure next to him showed that Chris had gotten on the bed, near the head. Perhaps he was resting against the pillows.</p><p>“And now, you take him,” Thomas was drug bodily up by the armpits, helped in between Chris’ legs so that his thighs framed Thomas’ face. He was a sharp enough lad to understand what was going on even if he couldn’t see. Richard had gotten Chris to lay down on the bed so that Thomas could suck him off while his back end was in the clear for Richard’s own attention.</p><p>“And now you may resume.” But Thomas was already back to work, with Chris’ manhood bobbing against the inside of his cheek.</p><p>“Thanks, teacher,” Chris grumbled.</p><p>He felt something pressing against his entrance, cold and slick. It sent an involuntary shudder up his spine.</p><p>As Richard’s finger entered him, stroking the inner channel of his walls, Thomas let out a groan. His imagination had been running in circles, wondering what this exact moment would be like. Now that they’d gotten there it was far too lovely to say. His passage clenched beyond his free will, a reaction to being empty for so long and now, beautifully, filled.</p><p>It nearly distracted him from giving Chris the blowjob that he deserved; he suddenly realized just how difficult it could be to have two lovers and try to please them simultaneously.</p><p>He accidentally touched the back of his throat and began to choke. Chris was quick to pull out, giving him a second to breath.</p><p>“Sorry-“ He gasped.</p><p>“S’fine.”</p><p>But now that he could talk again, Thomas suddenly realized just how badly he wanted to see. “Please… can I see? Please.”</p><p>“Please…?” Richard drawled, his voice overly sweet. “Are you begging, Thomas?” His voice was in his ear, his body draped over Thomas’ back even as one finger became two.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“And why do you want to see?” Richard asked.</p><p>“I wanna…. I wanna… please…” He couldn’t get the words out. That would require far too much thought and time. He just wanted to see, he didn’t want to have to explain himself.</p><p>“Chris, what do you think of that?” Richard stood back up, rocking himself against Thomas’ bare backside so that every so often his engorged prick would rub at the very beginning of his cleft. It left a sticky, hot trail in its wake. “Shall we let our beautiful captive be free?”</p><p>But instead of getting approval and a game plan, Chris decided to take matters into his own hands. Thomas felt the black cloth slip, and light dazzled his eyes. He was able to look up, if only just barely.</p><p>Chris was before him, sprawled out upon motheaten pillows in simple white sleeves. His body was thin, and well built, with scars riddling his torso. His cock was just like the rest of him, proud and handsome, nestled in a bed of dewy brown curls. With no clothing to hide his bare skin, Thomas could see that Chris had several tattoos. One featured an outspread hand with five dots in between the thumb and forefinger. There were names of men, and images of fine liquor bottles. A beautiful gardenia, spread wide and in bloom, covered his left pectoral right over his heart.</p><p>He tried to look over his shoulder at Richard, but couldn’t. At most, he could see the muddled outline of Richard’s right thigh. Sensing his predicament, Richard pulled Thomas up by his bound hands so that they were pressed back to front. They kissed savagely over Thomas’ shoulder, with Richard’s other hand busy at work preparing his channel. Chris got up on his knees, taking Thomas in hand so that they could stroke themselves at the same time. With their cocks pressed together, both men melted into a puddle of groaning. It was the most obscene thing he’d ever done.</p><p>“So long…” Richard was gripped hard at the shoulder by Christopher who used him as an impromptu balance. “I’ve wanted you for so very long.”</p><p>In response, Thomas kissed Christopher, open mouthed and tongue’s clashing. Richard sucked at the juncture of his neck, bruising the skin with a hickey. His channel was burning, stretched and raw.</p><p>“Do you think you’re ready?” Richard breathed.</p><p>He nodded, incapable of intelligent speak. The change was noticeable in his partners. Christopher’s kisses were less fierce, more attentive to his needs. Richard let his hands trail down the flesh of his back, his length pressing instantly upon Thomas’ entrance.</p><p>“Take him there,” Richard made a movement Thomas couldn’t see, and as a result Christopher cradled the back of his head with a gentle grip. He bent down, fingers tightening, essentially holding Thomas up by his hair. “Hold him tight.”</p><p>The grip was so commanding that it didn’t even hurt his head. He resumed lavishing attention to Christopher’s manhood, sandwiched between the pair of them with his legs and arms bound.</p><p>“Little push-“ he mumbled, barely audible. The burning sting that followed made Thomas moan aloud. He was fully sheathed inside, and it felt like the first time.</p><p>“God….” Richard moaned, his voice loud. Clearly the sensation was just as mind-blowing in the other direction.</p><p>“Feel good?” Chris asked.</p><p>“So good…” Richard was practically drunk on it, “Like velvet.”</p><p>“Lucky bastard-“</p><p>“Oh… don’t worry… you’ll get your turn tonight.”</p><p>“I intend to.”</p><p>The pair of them suddenly dissolved into a repetition of thrusts. For every drive into Thomas that Richard made, he pushed him forward into Christopher’s groin. As Christopher pushed back, Thomas was stead onto Richard’s lap. For a moment, he could do little save to simply allow it to happen and try not to ejaculate. He’d never been made love to so well.</p><p>Thomas made a tiny noise, a slight ache in his channel from the burn of Richard’s prick. It had been years since a man had made love to him.</p><p>“That hurt?” Christopher pulled back, a trail of saliva linking Thomas’ bottom lip to his cock. “Thomas… that hurt?”</p><p>“Uh mm….” He couldn’t quite remember how to speak.</p><p>“Thomas,” Richard sing songed, accentuating each syllable with a mild thrust.</p><p>“Been a while,” He finally managed to say. “…S’…Tight.”</p><p>“Mmm,” All three of them understood the implications. Christopher resumed fucking his face, his other hand coming down to cup Thomas’ jaw in case he got tired from the strain. He noted that Richard’s thrusts were much smoother than before, as if he was trying to minimize the pain he felt.</p><p>“You’re so tight,” Richard said. “When was the last time?”</p><p>Christopher pulled back, allowing Thomas to speak.</p><p>“… Long time…” He finally got out. “Years.”</p><p>“Ho… that’s a damn shame,” Chris scoffed. In reply, Thomas resumed sucking him off with slightly more gusto than before.</p><p>“I don’t think we can let that stand, d’you?” Richard asked his bedmate.</p><p>“No,” he agreed.</p><p>“Got a good hold on him?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Let’s play a game.”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“I’ll take him from behind,” And to accentuate his point, Richard playfully slapped Thomas on the rump. “And you take him from the front. And whoever reaches the end first loses.”</p><p>“I like this game,” Chris agreed, gleeful in their hedonism.</p><p>“Gotta go as hard and as fast as you can though,” Richard warned.</p><p>“Oh I can do that.”</p><p>“How does that sound to you, baby?” Richard asked, his voice breathy and raw. It was a far cry from the usual smooth composure he kept.</p><p>“Uh,” Thomas could manage little more than a smile, his lips raw from Chris’ prick.</p><p>“He’s smiling,” Chris said.</p><p>“I need a yes…” Richard sign songed. Speaking was flat out, so instead Thomas simply nodded. “Ah, there we go, always need a yes.”</p><p>“Always,” Chris echoed. He seated himself in Thomas’ mouth, carefully re-positioning his grip on Thomas’ head and hair. Behind him, Richard slipped his hands to Thomas’ hips, squeezing them with powerful fingers.</p><p>“Ready?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Go.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>What resulted was the most brutal and most pleasurable eight minutes of Thomas’ life. Richard wasn’t just making love to him, he was <em>fucking the life out of him. </em>Each slam of his hips into Thomas’ own shot a burst of mind-blowing pleasure through him, but he could hardly voice the sentiment for the fact that Chris’ prick was now halfway down his throat.</p><p>His eyes watered, the corners of his mouth stinged, his aching prick slapped against his belly, and all the while he couldn’t help but think ‘<em>This is jolly good fun’. </em></p><p>The room was full of nothing but grunts and wet slapping sounds. Richard began to strike something within him, something tight and hot that he knew was linked to his prostate. Thomas would have screamed if only he could manage it. Instead, all he could do was grunt and wail around Christopher’s cock. The real pleasure though was from the rhythm that his abused cock was making, and without a hand touching him Thomas realized that he was coming, spilling onto the sheets. He screamed out, his mouth full and his voice muffled; Chris and Richard slowed, both of them gasping for breath and sweating like pigs.</p><p>“Is… Is that a tie…?” Chris managed to get out.</p><p>“Maybe,” and the pair of them were laughing gayly at their fate. Thomas mouth was so raw and abused that he could not speak. “Here.”</p><p>They lifted him up till he was crumpled against Richard’s chest. Chris used the corner of the sheets to carefully wipe at his mouth where precum and saliva had coated his face.</p><p>“Switch… please oh pretty please,” He begged Richard. “Please let me have him. I’m beggin’ you-.”</p><p>“I have a better idea.”</p><p>“Does it involve me fucking him in the arse?” Chris snapped; he was getting testy with his patience being shredded to ribbon.</p><p>“Oh yeah.” Chris leaned into Thomas’ ear, but the resulting pressure on his elbow made Thomas wince.</p><p>“Hands…” He said. “Please…? Hurts…”</p><p>“Course..” and with a simple pull of velvet rope Thomas aching arms could finally descend. Richard took them in his own, wrapping himself about Thomas’ chest so that he could cup his abused limbs there.</p><p>“Ever done two at once?” Richard whispered in his ear.</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“No?”</p><p>“Can’t do that, can you?” He shook his head.</p><p>“Sure you can.”</p><p>“At the same time?” Chris gestured between them. “Both of us?”</p><p>“Mhmm.. It’ll hurt a bit at first, but it feels <em>so good </em>once we really get started. Imagine it, Tommy. Imagine both of us able to fuck you. Able to love you. So many years with nothing, and now all of a sudden everything you desire.”</p><p>He allowed his head to lean back upon Richard’s shoulder. Christopher swooped in and began sucking upon the opposite juncture of his neck; come morning he’d have two matching hickies on either side. Christopher let his hand trail down Thomas’ chest, then to his thighs. He slipped his hand ever so carefully beneath Thomas’ cock and balls, till they found his stretched perineum and his tightened anus where Richard was still seated. There, he began to pry, so much so that Thomas cried out.</p><p>When a finger slipped inside, long and thing, Thomas wanted to scream from the delirium it gave him.</p><p>“You’re so loud everyone’s going to hear,” Richard teased him, “I ought to gag you, I should have thought to do that.”</p><p>“How does that feel?” Chris asked. Just to test Thomas, he stuck another finger inside him. Thomas groaned, as loud and as obscenely as he’d ever done.</p><p>“More,” He begged.</p><p>“Slut,” Richard joked.</p><p> </p><p>For a moment it was just a display of Christopher preparing him and fucking him with his hand. Thomas panted and keened, maybe taking just a bit too much pleasure in throwing his head back and making sounds like a virgin. He supposed it was just as much for their pleasure as it was for his own.</p><p>“Close?” Richard asked him.</p><p>“Yeah,” Chris wasn’t looking, too focused on getting himself seated in the right position. He took Thomas’ thighs in hand, spreading them so that they could rest atop Chris’ own. From behind Thomas’ back, Richard withdrew a small tin of petroleum jelly, the kind that you might sell to a traveler who’d forgotten their own at home.</p><p>Chris fiddled with it; Thomas could not see, with his head rested on Richard’s shoulder, and then he felt a hot wet tip press to the rim of his abused and stretched center.</p><p>“We’ll go slow… real slow… you set the pace,” Chris whispered in Thomas’ ear. “You want me to stop, you know the word. Okay?”</p><p>He nodded, drawing in a shuddering breath.</p><p>“Here,” Richard pushed Christopher down onto the mattress, so that Thomas was straddling his waist. Their faces were pressed together, nose to nose. They did not kiss, both of them too intently focused as Christopher carefully pressed himself right against Richard’s own cock.</p><p>“I’m gonna go slow,” Chris whispered in his ear. “You want me to stop, you just say the word-“</p><p>“Don’t stop,” He begged.</p><p>“Sh…” and even as he pushed, even as Thomas felt things he’d never felt before, he kept an iron hand on his self-control and did not push fast.</p><p>“Easy… easy….”</p><p>“So good- you’re so good to us, Tommy.”</p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t speak. He was too caught up in the feeling. It was right on the edge of what was surely medically commendable, but at the same time it was also flagrantly hedonistic and he loved it.</p><p>Beneath him, Chris was swearing and moaning, his brow dotted with sweat. Richard and Chris were coming together, till they were side by side within Thomas and their legs interlocked. Unable to resist himself, Thomas sat up a bit straighter on Christopher’s lap and began to ride the pair of them. Christopher couldn’t take it, unable to handle the pleasure of both finally getting to fuck Thomas himself and the joy of doing it with another man. Maybe it was a remark of how wild they were behaving, but Chris sat up and leaned over Thomas’ shoulder to passionately kiss Richard upon the mouth. It was nothing like a kiss that he might have bestowed onto Thomas, all teeth and venom, but it was a kiss none the less.</p><p>As a reward for good behavior and not killing one another, Thomas rode them even faster. He was getting hard a second time, with Christopher stroking him and Richard cupping at his balls from behind.</p><p>“Beautiful baby-“ Chris moaned in his ear, “Beautiful baby boy-“</p><p>“So gorgeous- god I’m close-“</p><p>“Me too-“</p><p>And the pair of them held onto Thomas tight. From behind, Richard pressed his nose to Thomas’ temple, grimacing as if in pain. Thomas nuzzled him and Christopher both, bucking against them till they could simply bear it no longer.</p><p>Both men came, almost simultaneously, shouting and swearing till they were hoarse. But Christopher wasn’t finished. He jerked Thomas off with a sharp jerk of the wrist. It was an expert move and one that sent him over the edge. He’d not come twice in a single night in years.</p><p>The three of them could bear it no longer. They dissolved into one sticky hot heap of limbs and flesh, falling upon that moldy bed to lay sated in one another’s arms.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>For a long time, they simply lay there.</p><p>Between Chris and Richard, Thomas was well taken care of. Even as Christopher slipped out of him he pulled out a handkerchief and used it to carefully mop at the excess fluid slipping between his lies. Richard lay bent on one elbow, pressing chaste kisses to his shoulder and arm. He might have dozed off for a while, it was hard to say. Mostly they just let him rest. Richard untied his legs, allowing him to stretch back out to his fullest.</p><p>Chris fetched their hamper and began to pilfer through it like only a thief could while Richard drank some of his whiskey.</p><p>“What is this?” Chris pulled out a package of what looked like pink balls wrapped in gold paper.</p><p>Richard looked at an index card they’d been given, taking a small swig of whiskey. “Champagne Truffle.”</p><p>“Ooh.” Chris was like a child, unwrapping the sweet to pop it in his mouth. He was silent for a minute, chewing and swallowing to say, “That ain’t too bad.”</p><p>Thomas denied the truffle that was offered to his lips, instead scooting closer to Christopher to hide his face in the man’s naked side. Richard wrapped his arms around him, setting the whiskey bottle down on the floor.</p><p>“Are you sleeping again?” Richard teased.</p><p>“Mmm.”</p><p>“Thomas….”</p><p>Chris set the hamper aside and rolled over so that suddenly he was stuck between the two men. Christopher gave him a chaste kiss. He had no where to run or hide.</p><p>“Oooh, I can’t believe I did that…” He mumbled into Chris’ shoulder. “Both of you at once, what kind of an idiot am I?”</p><p>“Nooo.” Chris spoke as if to a stroppy child, laboring him with kisses.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Mhmhmmm…” and they were back to kissing him all over, the three of them wrapped up in their own little world.</p><p>“I think…. I kissed you mid coitus,” Chris remarked to Richard. “As my mum might have said.”</p><p>“Nerve of you,” he teased, and they laughed.</p><p>“Do it again,” Between the pair of them, Thomas watched as Chris and Richard butted heads over him. “Kiss him.”</p><p>They did as he bade at once, but Chris was cheeky and bit Richard on the lip. R headbutted him just to get the point across.</p><p>Annoyed with his bed mates, Thomas pushed them apart and sat up, scooting off the bed to head to the bathroom.</p><p>“Oi! Sex on a stick!” Chris called after him. “Where are you going?”</p><p>“I’m going to wash the pair of you off of me,” Thomas snapped, “Because I don’t fancy going on with wet trousers!” He disappeared around the bend that led to the bathroom, with both Chris and Richard still sprawled naked on the bed.</p><p>“What’s he upset about?” Richard wondered.</p><p>“Dunno, pass the whiskey.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Though the water was cold, Thomas bathed and did his best to wash away any evidence of their lovemaking. He shivered in the damp cave air, and quickly redressed just as soon as he could in an attempt to warm himself up. Both Richard and Christopher made audible noises of displeasure when he returned with clothes on.</p><p>“Aw…” Chris sighed. “No fair.”</p><p>“We don’t have to go yet, sweetheart,” Richard said.</p><p>“I’m cold,” He lamented. “The water isn’t hot.”</p><p>“Cold?” At this this, Christopher lazed like a cat and clambered off the bed to take him in his arms again. “I can warm you up…. Why don’t we ditch this cramped little cave and go back to my place? I’ve got a shower that actually works, and a kitchen with food in it. I can make you two dinner… or maybe breakfast.”</p><p>“Actually, that sounds quite nice,” Richard mused. “Thomas?”</p><p>He nodded, intrigued. At once, Christopher began to re-dress. Never one to be left out, Richard followed suit.</p><p>“There’s a mill just outside of town,” Chris explained. “It’s been abandoned for a long while, I use it as the center of my operations because I can make whiskey out of the basement.”</p><p>“What about Coyle?” Thomas asked, doing up his collar.</p><p>“He knows where I live, but if he thinks me dead, he won’t bother. We should be fine. Question is how are <em>you </em>feeling? Can you walk, jelly legs?”</p><p>“Oddly enough… yes… which is strange,” He wondered. Christopher re-smoothed the corners of his mustache, ever one to hold up priorities.</p><p>“I probably shouldn’t be walking around so soon after letting two men fuck me at the same time.”</p><p>“Aww, I’ll carry you.” To prove his point, Chris swooped forward and snatched him off his feet, all but throwing him over his shoulder.</p><p>“Let me down!” Thomas balked, giggling as he pushed against Christopher’s back.</p><p>“Here I’ll take that-!” Richard yanked him out of Christopher’s grip, kissing him soundly upon the mouth. He put Thomas’ hat back on his head, jamming it a little too tight. “I’ve abducted you.”</p><p>“Help, help, I’m being abducted, “He joked.</p><p>Richard took up the wooden key and unlocked the door.</p><p>“Hey, Chris, do you have a lighter? We’re gonna need it when we-“</p><p>But even as Richard stepped outside the door, he was stopped dead in his tracks.</p><p>Thomas let out a little shriek of horror, unable to suppress his fright.</p><p> </p><p>John Chaytor was just outside the door with Willas and two other men.</p><p>At once, Christopher whipped out his pistol, pointing it directly at Chaytor’s face. It was an action mirrored by the other man so that they were suddenly facing off with a duel. All happiness, all joy, had evaporated from the den of their lovemaking to be replaced with stone cold shock.</p><p>How had they gotten in?</p><p>How had they found them?</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Finally finished?” Chaytor asked. “Good. I was getting a little bored outside. I wouldn’t want you to forget me for your new flame.”</p><p>“Oh John…” Chris sneered, tutting in disapproval with his gun raised. “How could I ever forget you.”</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you have any thoughts or concerns, please do not hesitate to let me know.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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